SavingLadyIlsa

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Saving Lady Ilsa




Crystal Kauffman



 
Bradford Stratton needs a wife. It isn’t a tragic problem until one considers his disposition. He’d rather spend his days, and nights, with his young lover Frederick. But his father’s gently put request that he marry is nothing short of an order, and Bradford won’t settle for a silly bit of fluff. When he sees the beautiful Norwegian seamstress, he makes his decision on the spot. He has to have her, even as he knows claiming her could destroy his relationship with Frederick.
Ilsa Bergstrom has endured all the abuse she can take from her late sister’s cruel husband. But a thirty-year-old childless woman in London’s rough Whitechapel has few options for surviving on her own, and after a horrific night of abuse at the hands of three men, she’ll never choose whoring as one of them. Yet when handsome nobleman Bradford Stratton makes a scandalous proposition, she accepts without hesitation. Bradford proves to be a gentle and generous lover. But Ilsa knows when something seems too good to be true, it usually is.





 

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication







www.ellorascave.com



 


 


 

Saving Lady Ilsa
 
ISBN 9781419930904
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Saving Lady Ilsa Copyright © 2010 Crystal Kauffman
 
Edited by Grace Bradley
Cover art by Dar Albert
 
Electronic book publication October 2010
 
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
 
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
 
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.









Saving Lady Ilsa

Crystal Kauffman







Dedication

 
The work we authors do wouldn’t mean half as much if not for the magic performed by our editors, who help us tie it all together into one beautifully wrapped package. Thank you, Grace, for making revision time fun (you’ve got a lot of balls floating around in this sentence), making me laugh when you catch a silly mistake (her pussy can’t know he’s looking at it), and especially for being in my corner.
 







Chapter One


London 1859

 
Bradford Stratton arranged his family jewels to a safer position as the tailor’s needle flashed in the wan light. The man hadn’t pricked him, but once again Bradford cursed Willoughby, his regular tailor, for slipping on his bloody icy stoop and breaking his bloody wrist. Willoughby knew him so well Bradford hadn’t had to stand on a tailor’s block in nearly a decade, and the brief final fittings were always done at his convenience in the privacy of his manor house.
“That’s a bit tight there, I believe.” Bradford shifted himself again.
“I do apologize, Lord Stratton.”
Bradford didn’t correct the tailor’s misuse of title. He intended never to come back here and his nasty elder brother wasn’t worth bringing up.
Mr. Kilgard gave him a broad smile and barked a command in Norwegian to the woman Bradford could see through a part in the fitting room curtains. She turned from the chair she was upholstering and hurried over with a tool Kilgard used to remove several of the stitches.
Bradford watched her with a mixture of curiosity and pity. Not once did she lift her eyes to meet his, giving him the freedom to examine her unabashed. While his preferences lay entirely with men, in particular the handsome young man who’d been his companion for six years, Bradford could nevertheless appreciate a beautiful woman. One didn’t have to ride to appreciate the magnificence of fine horseflesh, or hang every masterwork he admired on his own wall.
Though Kilgard was clearly a man of advancing years, his wife appeared to be much younger. Bradford had learned an appreciation for the strong bone structure of the Nordic during his time in Stavanger, and this woman did her people proud justice. Her hair was her most impressive attribute. A unique shade of wheat-gold, it gleamed beautifully even in the low candlelight of this dreary room.
But what intrigued him most about his witness was Kilgard’s obvious hatred for the woman. Not once had she uttered a word, yet the man went forth with a string of poison in such a low, unemotional tone the calmness of his vehemence was more chilling than the words themselves. Though Bradford’s Norwegian was far from perfect, he understood almost every vicious word.
A very young pregnant woman waddled into the workroom. She whined her desire for pickled eggs in a squeaky voice and only then did Kilgard’s words change to those of kindness.
“Ilsa will go to Frau Leah’s to get you some when we are finished here,” he said, still in Norwegian.
The elder woman accidentally spilled over a cup of marking chalks and Kilgard’s tone rose to reveal his anger.

“Clumsy dolt! If Katrin could sew I would toss you out on the street. Sometimes I think I might anyway just to see the look on your stupid face.” Some of the Norwegian went beyond Bradford. “Thank God I never married you…no one will notice you gone. Useless…barren as the desert and twice as dry…”
Ilsa hid her eyes and Bradford suspected they were filling with tears. “Bah! When my son is born I’ll need you to look after Katrin, so you are safe for now. Go! Get the eggs for her and be quick about it.”
Bradford had assumed the girl was their daughter, but the odd statement told him something unseemly was going on here.
“And some chocolate,” the young girl shrilled from behind the curtain.
It was nearly nine. Bradford glanced through the window in the front parlor. Dusk streaked purple and gray as ugly as a bruise above the neighboring storefronts. It wasn’t safe for a woman to walk London’s streets alone at night, especially in Whitechapel. As he cursed Willoughby for the hundredth time, he tossed in a few extra choice thoughts for his friend Nickerson for recommending this wretched shop.
Yet as Ilsa set the cup on the worktable and finally lifted vivid green eyes to glance at Bradford, a tingle raced over his flesh. Such beauty was wasted on those who didn’t appreciate it. She stopped, caught by his deliberate stare, frozen except to blink those mesmerizing eyes. The sweep of long lashes was pure sensuality.
As awful as this shop truly was, it had revealed one blessing—Ilsa Kilgard.

* * * * *

Bradford departed the tailor’s in time to see Ilsa enter a small shop three blocks down the street.
“Chapels club now, Mr. Stratton?” Buckles asked him, holding the carriage door open.
“Drive to the corner and wait,” he told his driver. He climbed in and leaned through the window. “We’ll have a passenger.”
Bradford’s problem was no more pressing than that of most eligible bachelors, until one considered his disposition. He suspected even those with a preference for male company wouldn’t find it terribly inconvenient to keep a wife for appearance’s sake, but Bradford didn’t want a silly bit of fluff as little more than a subservient piece of furniture.
Though his father accepted him, albeit quietly, Bradford knew the old man’s gently presented request he take a wife was an absolute order. He knew his father had little faith in his brother for anything worthwhile, and was more inclined to see a grandchild grace their lives than he was concerned for the family title. At sixty-six, the old earl had little time left. And as they did for most old men, Bradford suspected his father’s priorities had undergone a vast transformation.
At thirty-three years old, Bradford was now exactly the age his father was when he was born. And yet he was still unmarried. Imagine, he could be as frail and spotted as his father when his own son was exactly like him now. Not a thrilling prospect. Though he’d never had a desire for a wife, a small part of him had hoped to have a son when he was much younger.
Frederick would suffer apoplexy when he realized what Bradford was doing. But Frederick could be so hotheaded. Such was the curse of youth, he supposed. Frederick considered himself wise beyond his years, and after all that he’d suffered, Bradford wouldn’t argue. But twenty-six was still terribly young, and the youthful tendencies he witnessed in Frederick both thrilled him and made him cringe.
Bradford shifted in the seat, making room for the thickening of his cock, which had been half hard since deciding upon this outrageous plan. He smiled to himself alone at the thought of his young lover, and his erection bloomed fiercely in anticipation of Frederick’s return in three days.
At the sound of her light, leather-shod footsteps returning on the sidewalk, Bradford leaned out the window. “Ilsa Kilgard.”
She froze, an expression of alarm on her face. Her shoulders relaxed when she saw him sitting in the carriage. “Mr. Stratton, er, you startled me.” Her gaze slipped over the fine Brougham carriage, lingering on the quartet of prized matching Hanoverians harnessed in front. The horses were a source of pride for Bradford, and he regularly declined generous offers for their purchase.
“Will you allow me to drive you the rest of the way? I wish a moment to speak with you.”
She glanced past him. The shop was only four doors down and the carriage was headed the other way.
“Buckles, take Miss Ilsa’s package to Kilgard’s,” he said before she could decline. “Explain her services are needed at Stratton Hall. I’ve upholstery badly in need of mending. She’ll be driven back on the morrow.”
Buckles jumped down from the bridge and snatched the basket from which Bradford could smell the briny pickled eggs.
Now alone on the lonely street, Ilsa ducked her head to hide the blush. “Mr. Stratton, this is most unusual.”
“As is my proposal, I assure you.”
“Exactly what I am afraid of.”
He climbed out of the cab and offered his hand. Still she hesitated. Good. She was smart to be wary. She didn’t know him from Adam. He wasn’t even a long-time customer she could feel familiar with, and Bradford knew many a pretty commoner had suffered nasty abuse at the hand of the peerage.
If only she knew how nasty his plans for her truly were.
“I assure you, you’ll find my offer more desirable than what awaits you at Kilgard’s.”
Her gaze snapped to his. Her eyes were deep green in the fading twilight, reflecting two pinpoints of light from his carriage lamps. She was a true beauty, he remarked again, with high, strong cheekbones and a deliciously plump lower lip. The upper was a perfect bow shape. His blood quickened as he imagined those lips spread wide around his cock.
As her gaze slid over him, dancing across his broad shoulders and down the front of his muscular body, he knew she was evaluating him. And when she offered her hand, he knew she’d agreed to his proposal before she’d even heard it.

* * * * *

The carriage shifted under Buckle’s returned weight. “Where to, Mr. Stratton?”
“Circle the street once. Miss Kilgard will have the opportunity to disembark if she chooses.”
The reins snapped and the horses’ hooves sang out a clatter across cobblestone. Seated across from him, Ilsa placed a hand to the padded leather seat to brace herself, then dragged her fingers over it in a languid caress, admiring the fine leatherwork.
“The young woman in the shop—your daughter?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.
Ilsa crossed her hands in her lap and glanced out the window into the darkness. Again, her lashes fell in that slow, erotic sweep. She shook her head. “Dietrich’s wife.”
The whispered response, so filled with pain, confirmed what Bradford suspected. Something unseemly was afoot.
“You are not married to the tailor?” He hoped she heard the genuine confusion in his question, and didn’t take his question as an insult.
“Mr. Kilgard was my sister’s husband. She died without bearing a child, but he kept me on as her replacement in the shop. Soon I was the replacement in her bed as well, even though I refused to marry him. Then Katrin came along and happily took my place in his bed. As desperate as he is for a son, he happily tossed me aside.” She paused over a sigh. “You might as well call me by my true name. Ilsa Bergstrom.”
“Yet you do not bear him that child either, Miss Bergstrom.”

”No. I did not.” She stared out into the darkness as she answered. The slender cords of her neck worked as though the words were difficult but she was loath to let her voice tremble over them.
“So the replacement finds herself replaced.”
“Comin’ round again, sir,” Buckles called in. The carriage slowed.
“Simply put, Miss Bergstrom,” he said in Norwegian, “I am in need of a wife.”
She swept a sidelong glance at him, then did a double take. His use of Norwegian revealed he’d understood the filth the tailor had spat at her.
“I want you in my bed, Ilsa.”
Her eyes widened, in them something akin to panic.
“My situation is unusual. I will explain more later, but for now I will tell you that you will be treated with kindness and respect in my home, and if you agree to my offer, you will be provided for quite well.”
The carriage came to a stop.
“But neither will I lie to you. I want you in my bed, I want your legs spread wide and your body agreeable to my demands. You will avail yourself to me whenever it pleases me, and it will please me often.”
A mixture of anger and aghast filled her face. “I have many faults, Mr. Stratton. But I am no whore.”
“That is precisely why I am making this offer to you, Miss Bergstrom.” He relaxed against the seat and regarded her with a half-smile. “You will never have to return to Kilgard.”
Her green eyes flicked to the handle of the carriage door. Outside, one of the horses snorted impatiently.
Her chest rose and fell, her bosom straining against her plain woolen dress. When she spoke, her voice was hardly a whisper. “Drive on, then.”

* * * * *

Even in the darkness, the impressiveness of Stratton Hall made her gawk like a silly schoolgirl. The gleaming front, with its massive columns supporting a high roof, seemed to absorb light out of the night, a beacon of white in a forest of green. She was thankful to reach their destination, having swallowed her uneasiness through a now-sore throat a thousand times during the ride.
The carriage climbed an immense circular drive that angled to the house on the hill and stopped at a wide stone stairway leading to colossal front doors. The windows glowed, no shortage of candle wax here.
Mr. Stratton stepped down from the cab and offered his hand. It was strong but smooth and it enveloped hers, making her feel petite even though she was anything but. She allowed him to lead her up the steps, hardly able to feel her own feet.
This hadn’t been the first time a fine carriage stopped on the street beside her as she walked, and therefore she hadn’t been surprised to be propositioned from within. He’d seen her in the shop and fancied himself a few hours of play. There was nothing unusual about a peer interested in a dalliance to curb his boredom. She’d never before entered a cab, though, knowing what constituted play for one could equal horror for another. She’d heard stories of the poor unfortunates who’d fallen victim to the wicked needs of the bored upperclassmen. The stories from those who didn’t mind the activities curdled her stomach just the same. She had no desire for a repeat of the terrible incident last year…
Why she’d entered the carriage she still didn’t know. She supposed she’d been urged there by Dietrich’s excessive malice tonight. A shudder rippled through Ilsa. Bradford had understood each and every word. Perhaps it convinced him she was uniquely vulnerable as a result.
She stopped in the wide entry, pulling her arm against his grip. “Mr. Stratton.” Her words caught as she took in the sight before her. The house was incredible, modern and luxurious like she’d only imagined. And not a sign of torn upholstery anywhere. There wouldn’t be. She already knew that was merely a falsehood to appease Dietrich.
Bradford angled toward her and flashed a rakish smile. The man was dangerously handsome, and he knew it. That made him dangerous twofold.
“Surely there are any number of eligible brides more suited to a man of your position than myself.”
“There are,” he said simply, then turned and passed into a drawing room as wide and deep as a theater.
Another chill rippled over her at the blatant reminder her purpose to him was altogether different.
“But I’ve already told you,” he said as he poured two glasses of brandy, “my situation is unique.”
She trailed into the elegant room. “How so?” The bride excuse was just that, and she didn’t like being lied to. She might be helpless and just a bit desperate, but she wasn’t stupid.
He crossed the room and handed her a glass. The cut crystal felt heavy, the rich scent of fine brandy heady in her nostrils.
“We’ll broach that later.”
“I feel we should broach it now.” She straightened her spine, proud of herself for the strength with which she delivered the words. As he stared down at her, though, that confidence crumbled. “I should tell you…I’ve endured treatment that now causes me to fear.”
He was slugging down a mouthful of brandy when she spoke, and her words gave him pause. He set his glass down on a glossy table arranged in front of two velvet-covered chairs. Her heart accelerated as she stepped closer. In his eyes was a gentleness she hoped was truly kindness.
He touched her arms, gliding down them almost imperceptibly. “I promise you, there is nothing to fear from me.”
She held his gaze for a long moment before taking a slow sip of the brandy. It was exquisite. He then took the glass from her and set it beside his own. Taking her hand, he led her across the room to a large portrait.

“My father, the Earl of Berkley. I am his second son.” He dragged his reverent gaze away to smile at her. “But I’m told quite often I’m his favorite. He has asked me to take a wife, and as there is nothing I wouldn’t do for him, I agreed. But I have neither the time nor the inclination to devote the proper attention to the task. Therefore, you are the perfect solution to my problem.”
The brandy scalded her stomach pleasingly and she felt it loosening her limbs. There was much she could endure. She knew that from experience. To endure it in what was literally a palace instead of that drafty, pest-ridden room above the shop in Whitechapel was surely a better proposition than her current situation.
“What do you wish of me, Mr. Stratton?”
A butler appeared in the doorway. “Good evening, sir. Do you require—” He froze, as though surprised by the sight of her in the drawing room. “I apologize. I didn’t realize you had company.”
“No bother, Havers. Please escort Miss Bergstrom to the Peony suite. Have the maids prepare her a bath.”

“Yes, sir.” The ancient man gestured with a hand. “This way, Miss Bergstrom.”
She followed him up a curved stairway clothed with a blood-red runner deep enough to lose a shoe in should it fall off on the way up. He walked the entire length of the wing and stopped at the second to last door. Adjacent to Mr. Stratton’s, no doubt.
Uncertainty felt like clawing fingers trying to climb out of her belly. What was she doing here? Did Bradford intend to use her, lying about needing a wife to simply take his fill of her before tossing her out? If there was one thing she knew about men, they showed the proper interest to gain what they wanted, but little more.
But what did it truly matter? Bradford was devilishly handsome, so if she was to be used by anyone, it might as well be him. And if she came away from this night, this week, or this month—whatever he wanted from her—bearing fruit, all the better. If she didn’t, she was no worse off than she started.
The butler, Havers, showed her into the grand room and closed the door behind her. It was a lovely room, decidedly feminine and comfortable. Still, she felt out of place in it. Mr. Stratton must keep this room for conquests, and she didn’t like being whatever number she was in his list. I may be poor, but I have my pride.
A grand four-poster bed commanded the center of the room, prettily decorated with a floral bedcovering and matching pillows. The floor was covered with a plush, rose-colored carpet she longed to dig her toes into.
Ilsa knew a moment of bold curiosity. She crossed the room with purpose and peeked into the wardrobe. The rod and hooks were bare, but extra bedclothes filled the shelves. She glanced at the vanity. It was also bare of feminine things. Curious.
A knock sent her heart leaping. She quickly closed the wardrobe door and darted into the center of the room. “Yes?”
Four maids entered, two very young girls carrying buckets of steaming water and two much larger, burly women, one carrying an empty cauldron. “Fer yer bath, miss,” one of them said. Another removed a screen to reveal a small anteroom, its floor paved with Spanish tiles. A large, claw-foot tub with its own pump stood in the center near a private garderobe.
A private water closet, with its own pump! In minutes the women had a full bath so warm steam rose from it.
Ilsa gasped when the two young girls suddenly grabbed at her clothes.
“Sorry, miss. Did I pull yer hair?” Probing fingers hastily removed her combs and Ilsa’s long hair tumbled down her back. She’d never been undressed by a maid before. One of the girls marched past with a stack of fluffy towels. Her whole life spent as a seamstress and she had never seen anything so fine. Another girl slipped a silken wrapper over her shoulders and Ilsa tightened it around herself to hide her nakedness. Perhaps the nobility were accustomed to being undressed by their servants, but she found the notion scandalous.
As quickly as they had appeared, all but one departed. She stood in the doorway to the bath and cocked her head. “It’ll get cold if ye wait too long.”
The water was deliciously warm, and Ilsa hadn’t imagined it would feel so good to have her hair washed by someone else’s gentle fingers. “I’m Mary. It’ll be me what comes when ye pull the bell.”
When Ilsa’s fingers began to prune like they did when she washed dishes, she climbed out of the tub and dried herself with the towel Mary offered her. It was truly wonderful, magnificently fluffy. She stepped into the wrapper Mary held open for her and belted it tightly around her waist. As ludicrous as she found it to be helped in and out of clothes by servants, she found it twice as much to be watched while she bathed.
“The bell’s here.” Mary went to the far side of the bed and pointed at the velvet swath. She turned down the bed. “Anythin’ else, miss?”
Ilsa shook her head and the girl left without another word.
A hearty fire crackled in the hearth. Ilsa sat before it and combed her fingers through her wet hair, eagerly soaking up the heat. She pinched her thigh. This wasn’t a dream. She was truly awake!
A sound from the next room caught her attention and she realized the adjoining door was ajar.

* * * * *

Bradford took a quick swim in the spring before returning to his rooms. The maids were still bathing Ilsa, so he donned a loose robe and lay down on the bed as the fire warmed his room, leaving the connecting door cracked.
When he’d presented the idea to Ilsa, he’d thought it was the perfect solution. Frederick knew this was required of him. Now though, uncertainty crept in with its cold little fingers. Though they’d discussed it, Frederick had made no secret of his aversion to the plan. Bradford suspected Frederick expected him to forget about it as soon as some project, or a new business deal, captured his attention.
Bradford’s apprehension didn’t stop there. Neither had he told Ilsa about Frederick, because tonight would be a trial of sorts. It wasn’t fair to her, but first he had to make sure that she was suitable. There could be nothing less in what had suddenly become a very complicated situation.
At the very least, he was certain Frederick would be angry Bradford proceeded without him. Whenever they’d discussed it, the talk had always been to the theme of their choosing the woman together.
He opened his robe and stroked himself, though his cock needed no urging. He rarely felt sexual desire for a woman, but it would be nice to free himself of pent-up tension.
The door creaked, and then as though catching herself, Ilsa stopped and gave a soft knock.
“Enter.”
She stepped inside wearing the silk robe and nothing else. As he’d suspected, now freed from the severe bun she wore, her hair was exquisite. It rippled over her body, hanging to her waist in luxurious, loose curls that were still damp at the ends. She glanced about the room before her gaze settled on him. He waited as her eyes trailed down his body and fixed on his cock. She watched him stroke himself slowly, up and down.
“Come.” It irritated him to have to speak the command. He decided against ordering her to suck him. She’d be horrible. No woman sucked cock as well as a man, and that was a special thing between him and Frederick. This arrangement fulfilled a base purpose, it was not for desire, not for passion, not for love. Whatever pleasure derived from it was unavoidable.
But while women didn’t appeal to him in general, he couldn’t deny Ilsa was a lush beauty who intrigued him uniquely.
She stepped closer and opened her own robe. She pulled it from her shoulders and let it slip off her body. His irritation vanished. Not only did he admire her move toward the obedience she knew he expected, he admired the courage she mustered to do so.
He thought back to her vague claim about bad treatment and mentally afforded her a small amount of pity. She must be terrified, and therefore that move doubly courageous.
She seemed to have been created for sex. Though he still longed to see that lush mouth swallowing his cock—once he had Frederick’s approval of course—he knew he’d enjoy sinking himself into her ripe flesh as much, if not more. Her large breasts were high and round and a narrow waist flared to wide hips. Her long, slender legs were smooth and taut. The patch of hair at the apex of her thighs was exactly the same golden color as that on her head.
She drew a deep breath, making those heavy mounds rise and fall. Her nipples were small and tight in the cool air, deep red in color and slightly upturned.
“How do you want me, sir?” Her voice was a low baritone, underscored with an echo of fear.
The question surprised him, and washed away the memory of irritation. “My wife should call me Bradford.” He sat up and reached out a hand, but swung his legs over the side and rose to meet her in the center of the room.
How did he want her, indeed? He was perplexed. How could he enjoy her without betraying Frederick? No kissing, definitely. Should he mount her from behind? He’d loved Frederick in every position imaginable, so there was nothing new he could try with Ilsa.
He circled her, surveying her with a twinge of guilt. She wasn’t a piece of horseflesh on the auction block, for heaven’s sake. But every inch of her was more magnificent than the last, and he wondered if Kilgard was daft. Bradford supposed he understood some men’s obsession with creating an heir, but for all the world, the man had next to nothing to hand down to a son, and hers was a body to be enjoyed, procreating or not.
“Bradford, then,” she said. The words were spoken oddly and he understood he was making her uncomfortable.
“You are a beautiful woman, Ilsa. It will give me great pleasure to spend myself inside you.”
Her cheeks bloomed pink, but the corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly.
He still couldn’t decide how he wanted her. “Perhaps this first time, I’ll let you decide.”
“Oh—Bradford, I…” She dropped her shoulders. “Lie down again, if you please.”
Well now, this could prove promising. Please him it did. He returned to the bed and stretched out across the middle, pushing the blankets down with his feet. Ilsa followed and climbed on. She straddled his hips, looking down at his now-throbbing cock between her legs.
The firelight gilded her pale skin in gold. Her glorious hair spilled around her shoulders. He examined the minute details of her flesh, now pebbled slightly despite the roaring hearth and warm sheets.
Her small hand grasped him tentatively. Bradford sucked in his breath. Her grip tightened and she stroked the length of him, her fingers dancing an exploration over his sensitive flesh. He wanted to tell her to squeeze harder. Already he longed for Frederick’s firm, skilled grip, but this was nice in a different way. Ilsa must be allowed to learn him properly if this arrangement was going to work.
“You are…well endowed.” She swallowed and her cheeks grew pink again.
She rose slightly and guided his straining organ upright with her hand. The tip of him touched the petals of her sex. Pooling moisture coated him. The last hints of unease drifted away. Ilsa was aroused for him. He indulged in a private smile. Kilgard’s claim she was “as dry as the desert” was an insult to himself. The man was simply incapable of exciting her.
He resisted the urge to thrust as she guided his shaft in a circular motion, anointing him in her feminine cream and preparing herself for his possession. His engorged cock sought the divot of her flesh as though with a mind of its own, and Ilsa let it push past her outermost flesh.
She leaned forward to brace both hands on the mattress and shifted her body down, swallowing his tip. Bradford sank inside her waiting heat and closed his eyes.
A bolt of regret clapped over his head like thunder. He loved Frederick and nothing felt as right as being joined with him, but there was no doubt about it, a woman’s body was made for a man’s cock.
“Oh.” Her soft oath brought his eyes open. She pushed backward and slowly took the length of him until she was seated upon his root. He felt the tightness of her body gloving him from all sides, felt the tip of his cock straining against the end of her channel.
He touched her thighs, marveling at the softness of her skin, and slid his hands up and around her ass. Her legs trembled as she moved on him, slowly at first, driving him mad. This was all well and good, but soon—and before Frederick returned—she would have to be made aware he would expect much more from her.
But tonight, this first time, he was content to let her ride him to release. It almost pleased him more that he could not pound away to satisfaction, that there felt a certain dissatisfaction from her slow, shallow bouncing.
Before long she was gasping, tiny cries escaping her throat, and Bradford felt the heat of climax brewing in his balls. His seed erupted and, as though she could feel it, Ilsa tipped her head back and cried out.
He filled his hands with her breasts, reveling in the weight of them, and she gripped his arms.
There was no turning back now. He’d claimed her, branded her. Frederick would understand. He had to, because Bradford could not substitute one for the other.







Chapter Two

 
Ilsa heard Mr. Stratton—Bradford—rise and throw more logs on the fire. The hearth threw off a great amount of light despite the iron night grate standing in front. She suspected her inability to sleep was not only the unfamiliar, though magnificent bed, or the glowing amber light. It was this situation, which she could not deny was only a smidgeon less than terrifying.
She lay naked on her stomach, faced away from Bradford, and did not let him know she was awake. She did not believe he would make her his wife, but that was not the reason she had ridden up here to his beautiful home. She had done it to spite Dietrich.
She had known what Bradford wanted before she’d climbed into his fine coach, yet climb in she had. She didn’t know why he’d made such an outrageous promise. It had been unnecessary. To come home seeded with child by another man after Dietrich had used her so wickedly for all those years would be both the ultimate insult against him, and the very thing he wanted most. But more than any other reason, Ilsa now admitted to herself she’d wanted a taste of the handsome nobleman.
She’d earned the right to a bit of pleasure with all the punishment she’d endured.
A sliver of unease remained concerning the tailor. Should Bradford not keep his word, should he throw her out as Dietrich had threatened so many times, she would have no choice but to return to the shop in Whitechapel. It was the only home she had.
The bed sagged as Bradford climbed back in. He tossed the sheet over their bodies, but a moment later he eased close and urged her onto her back. Ilsa obeyed, but kept her eyes closed.
His mouth touched her bare shoulder. He didn’t lay down kisses, but his lips trailed a soft path across her collarbone to her chest. Down, down, they clasped gently over her nipple and sucked.
Tingles raced over her flesh. She didn’t want to want him, but she did. She moved, twisting her body toward him and arching her back, then realized he’d know she was awake. Large, strong hands stroked the length of her body. She parted her legs and he slipped between, his stomach firm against her blooming womanhood.
He still wasn’t kissing her flesh, it was licking really, but it was divine. He propped himself over her with corded arms and moved to the neglected nipple. The warm wetness of his tongue both mortified and delighted her.
He rose then, positioning himself over her, and met her wide open eyes. “Open for me, Ilsa.”
She already was, but took this as warning he was about to enter her again. She pushed away a hint of worry as she let her legs fall wide and angled her hips to receive him. He was only one man, she reminded herself, and there were surely only the two, possibly three times he could rise to take her in one night.
The firm crown of him touched her slick pussy, and then he was pushing inside her with a glorious thickness both bewildering and wonderful.
Bradford plunged with his hips, driving himself deep. The sudden force brought a bolt of fear. He must do this, she told herself. A midwife once told Ilsa her failure to breed could be that her husband didn’t plant himself deeply enough. She’d been embarrassed by the talk, but understood the logic. Then a year ago, in a tragic and painful lesson, she’d realized that in comparison to other men, Dietrich’s man tool was narrow, mostly limp and very short.
Just as she’d learned Dietrich was lacking, she now understood Bradford was gifted.
As though sensing her trepidation, he said, “I told you I’d want all of you. Accept me, Ilsa.”
He pushed deeper still, captivating her like no one else had. But the fear lingering from that horrible night a year ago drifted away. Bradford’s thick organ brought no pain, just total, encompassing captivation. He filled her completely with his heavy weight, challenging her to accept him as though there were some great prize for doing so. Indeed she’d felt it earlier tonight, the beginnings of that warm, ticklish pleasure she’d only felt hints of before, and only by accident.
Now it blossomed, unfurling from the tiny nub he rubbed his pelvis hard against and rolling into her pussy with each delicious, deep traverse of his glorious cock. The pleasure was sweet agony, and it built in waves she wanted to stoke. She clutched at his back, digging her fingers into his flesh in time with each powerful plunge.
“Oh, yes.” The words slipped free before she’d considered them, but Bradford’s gasp of approval encouraged her on. His hips pounded on her now, igniting a fire that consumed her. His grunt signaled his release and Ilsa felt the slipperiness of his cum spilling into her a second time.

* * * * *

Ilsa’s second day at Stratton Hall passed in a magnificent fog. After an opulent breakfast, Bradford spent the remainder of the morning in his study. Dressmakers arrived at the house and an endless array of fabrics paraded before her. It was so fantastic she almost let herself believe his marriage story true.
At one point Bradford appeared and voiced his request she be adorned in deep jewel tones of sapphire, emerald and ruby, then he vanished again to the privacy of his work.
Most of the staff made silly excuses to meet her and Ilsa couldn’t understand why many of them seemed perplexed by her position.
“Is it true, yer to marry Mr. Stratton?” one young girl asked in a bewildered tone, but before Ilsa could answer another maid socked her in the arm and told her to shush. At the end of the day, Ilsa could only surmise this was how servants behaved. Above all there seemed a secretive sense of propriety about them, and she could not urge answers about the mysterious Bradford from them.
After a light but exquisite lunch of expertly prepared cod, greens and roasted potatoes, where she and Mr. Stratton talked comfortably about Shetland cart ponies, of all things, she came upon Havers while exploring the second wing of the house.
“Is there a dress form in the house?”
He looked at her oddly.
“A seamstress stand—a wire or stuffed figure to make dresses upon.”

“Hmm.
Perhaps in the attic. I’ll send Elsabeth to fetch a lamp and show you the way.”
A young girl came to Ilsa’s room not much later and gave an odd curtsy. “I’m to show ya the ways to the attic.”
Ilsa smiled at the nervous chit, who kept sneaking sideways glances at her on the long walk to the end of the opposite wing.
“Ya makes yer own dresses, does ya? I can’t sew fer nothin’. Me mum says me thumbs are put on backward, she does.”
“It takes many years of practice,” she told the girl. “Your skill will grow as you get older.”
The girl opened an unlocked door and led her up a long flight of stairs. Another door led into the attic. Elsabeth squealed as a large spider darted past her foot.
“I’ll take that,” Ilsa said, gently extracting the swinging lamp from the girl’s clamped fingers. It would not do to burn down Mr. Stratton’s home. Thankfully a wire dress form stood not far inside the cavernous attic. “Can you manage this,” she asked Elsabeth. “If it’s too heavy, send one of the men—”
Elsabeth had already snatched it and was hurrying toward the door. “Thank the stars. I hate these dark, scary rooms.”
“Go on ahead, Elsabeth. I’m going to look around here a while.”
The returned call told her the girl was already at the bottom of the stairs. Ilsa hung the lamp on a hook and peered more closely at the chaise that had caught her eye. The upholstery was chewed up by rodents on one side, but the wooden frame was beautifully carved. Past it, she noticed several dining chairs, also with tattered fabric but of beautiful craftsmanship. Perhaps these items were of little value to Mr. Stratton, but she would enjoy repairing them if he gave his blessing, and it would pass the time on what would surely be long days as winter came on.
If she stayed, that was.
In a considerably uplifted mood, she took the rear stairs all the way to the first floor and stumbled upon the library on the north side of the manor. Stepping inside, she was momentarily struck by the sheer number of shelves stacked floor to tall, tall ceiling. There must be hundreds of books! She turned in a circle, and then again, before lifting her arms and laughing out loud. Ilsa quickly covered her mouth and giggled into her palms. If she was to be a whore for Mr. Stratton, what a wonderful place to be one!

* * * * *

Darkness had fallen hours ago. Ilsa sat at the vanity brushing out her now-dry hair. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of herself in the new silk shift that had appeared with several others while she explored the library. It was more alluring than a bridal gown and wickedly risqué, but it moved over her skin like magic. The white fabric gleamed in the candlelight, turning her breasts into snowy white globes. Her nipples tented the fabric scandalously.
Every moment here passed with a small amount of worry. She still didn’t know if Mr. Stratton truly intended to marry her, but convinced herself to set aside the unease and take each moment for what it was.
She’d created garments similar to this one—perhaps not quite so alluring—but she’d never worn anything so fine. She still couldn’t convince herself she owned it, but she took satisfaction from the fact it had been made to her measurements. The draping top sat perfectly over her too-large breasts.
A knock at the adjoining door made her start. When the door didn’t open she quickly rose and opened it, not wanting to irritate Bradford.
“Do you wish me, Mr. Stratton?” she blurted, suddenly eager to please. Should this whole Cinderella fantasy be true, she would do nothing to make him change his mind.
Bradford stood back and surveyed her in the gown. “Lovely. Almost a shame to take it off you.” He held out his hand. “Come. Perhaps we can find a compromise.”
Her cheeks burned as she took his hand, but already she understood his demands on her would be basic. He just wants to possess my body. Sex is the most natural thing there is. She shrugged away the knowledge sex could be unpleasant and painful, a method for delivering cruelty.

He promised me it would not be that way here. But could she believe it?
He led her over to the bed and then stood back, as if pondering. “Kneel on the bed,” he instructed and shrugged out of his own robe. He tossed it over the nearby chair.
He was every bit as handsome as she remembered. She shyly perused his naked form, admiring the bulging muscles of his arms, the ridged planes of his chest and belly and the obvious arousal standing tall at his groin. His shaft was smoothly white, sprouting from a grove of thick black hair, its tip purple with wanting.
Ilsa lifted the long skirt to climb onto the high bed. She held the gown bunched at her thighs as she positioned herself, knees wide. He mounted the bed behind her and knelt between her legs. Bradford slid his palms up her thighs, pushing the fabric over her ass to bare her sex.
“Such a pretty color,” he murmured. “You’re like a seashell.”
The sheer wantonness of it made her grow hot. Knowing he looked at her pussy, she swelled like a flower blooming for the sun. Fingers pulled her outer lips wide. His tongue flicked over her slit, making her jerk in surprise.
“Oh!”
He sucked a mouthful of flesh and teased with the tip of his tongue. “Mmmm.” The vibration traveled inside her. Ilsa dropped her head and closed her eyes as an overwhelming need to be filled, to be stretched wide and probed deep, consumed her entire body.
His tongue poked deeper into her, intensifying the need unbearably. She shuddered as the first hints of ticklish pleasure started as a low tremor.

“Oh, my heavens, oooohhhh.”

He licked up and down in a long, slow slather. One finger penetrated her, making her cry out. The finger worked in and out before being joined by a second. She arched her back and pushed against him to urge them deeper.
“A woman doesn’t get this wet unless she wants to be fucked.”
She merely gave a low murmur, too embarrassed to respond.
He withdrew. Sticky fingers grabbed her ass as he took her in both hands. “That is all I require of you tonight. If you wish, you may return to your room.”
She glanced over her shoulder, confused. Her entire body trembled. Unsatisfied need coiled in her belly as pure agony.
“Or, if you wish it, I’ll fuck you.”
Shame be damned, she needed to be filled by him. “I wish it.”
“Then say it.”
Her skin was so hot she might burst into flames. “I wish you to fuck me.”
“Lovely Ilsa, I would be happy to.”
He leaned past her and retrieved a small glass bottle from the bedside table. He poured a thin stream of some type of oil into his palm, then shifted back to his knees behind her.
The cap of his sex met the divot of hers. Oh yes. She felt pressure there, heard the squishing sound of his hand spreading the oil over his shaft.
She understood now, she’d only served men who were wrong for her. Bradford’s body was compatible with hers, his needs suited to what she could give. His tall frame rivaled her own, and she hoped her beauty matched his refined elegance as well.
“I can stop now and calm my needs. But if I enter you, I’ll use you until I’m satisfied.”
“Yes sir.”
He lightly slapped her ass. “Bradford.”

“Yes, Bradford.”

“You must understand what that truly means. Tonight shall be a lesson for you. If ever you don’t want me, you merely have to say so. But you must say so before we have started, for once I’m inside you, I’ll not stop until I’m satisfied.”
“I understand.” She wriggled her bottom, needing to feel that glorious cock poking at her.
“Don’t be fooled by last night. My strength will last much longer tonight.”
“I understand…Bradford.”
He took her by the hips, one hand still slippery with oil. A thrill raced through her as she realized he would easily conquer her body’s natural resistance. His hands tightened, giving her the split second warning before his invasion.
He thrust sharply, breaching her, filling her with all of himself in one solid stroke. She grunted, shocked at the same time fulfilled. There was a burst of pain, but it was exquisite pain.
“Perfect,” he groaned out. He immediately withdrew halfway and thrust on her again, reaching deeper than before. She dropped her head again, focusing all thought on her pussy and the thick shaft invading her so magnificently.
At once he began a rapid pummeling. Ilsa suspected he needed to prove himself to her, that sometimes his desires would be ferocious, but he would always be mindful of her tragic past even though he didn’t yet know what it was. Perhaps that past had made her strong enough to accept this now.
She braced herself as he pounded into her, his thick cock stabbing deep each time. She pushed back to receive it, seeking the dull ache that promised a shattering orgasm. True to his word, his endurance proved strong. She gripped the sheets in her fists, determined to prove to him, and herself, she was still the compatible lover for him. Her first climax struck like a flash of lightning followed by a roll of booming thunder.
Mentally she prepared herself for increasing force. There was much she could endure, even if she didn’t like it. But even as Bradford’s grunting sounds grew, his force diminished.
Her second climax came with his, this one in surges like waves rolling up the beach. She felt the added moisture of his seed, everything between her legs slippery and soaking wet. A slow thrust, then a final one even slower, and Bradford held himself fast inside her. Only now did she feel his body trembling.
She knew he was finished, but waited for him to dismount her. He eased out of her body slowly and gently, then slid his hand up her body to urge her rumpled gown over her head. She let it slide down her arms, and only then did she collapse on her side. He spooned up behind her, combing wild locks of hair away from her cheek.
“Ilsa…” he whispered in her ear.
“Are you ready again, Bradford?”
He laughed and cupped her breast. “I am an excellent judge of character, if I do say so myself.”
She smiled.
“I knew you would be perfect.”
“Oh no, I am far from perfect.”
“You don’t know how perfect you are, my dear.”
She closed her eyes. “With assumptions like that, I fear you shall only be disappointed.”
“Perhaps more tests are required, then.” His gave a suggestive squeeze to her breast.
She drew a long breath in and out. “Do you wish me to return to my room?”
He rolled away. “No. Stay…tonight.”
At once the dreamy trance cast by her climaxes evaporated. His answer had a secret meaning, she was certain.
She heard a splash of water and then the trickles of a cloth being wrung out. When he knelt on the bed again, she turned onto her back.
“Open your legs.”
She met his gaze and did so, trusting. It came with a thrill of fear, but Ilsa knew if she didn’t fear what he’d just done to her, she needn’t fear him now.
A cool cloth touched her burning pussy, soothing the intense heat. She closed her eyes as he caressed her gently, moved in the deepest part of her heart. No man had ever been so kind. He returned the cloth to the basin and threw another log onto the fire, then crawled back into bed beside her. Bradford pulled a thin blanket over them and settled down beside her, capturing her breast again to hold through the night.
She was a princess in a fairy tale, and nothing had ever felt so wonderful. Yet Ilsa could not shake the suspicion this would not last, for anything that seemed too good to be true usually was.

* * * * *

Curled in a deep leather chair in the library with her bare feet beneath her, Ilsa was dragged from the book she was reading by the eerie sensation of being watched. She looked up to find Bradford standing in the doorway, staring at her with half a smile. Her body heated. Perhaps he wanted her now. In the middle of the day! It mattered not. She understood her position here was to provide him pleasure when he wanted it, and not to question him for it. He’d proven it wouldn’t be wretched, and in turn, taught her that sex could be good. Oh, so wonderfully good.
“Now I know where to find you, should you ever go missing.” He smiled devilishly. She glanced at the table beside her and realized she’d given herself away for her love of books, and made a clutter of his beautiful library. Books were piled on the marble top and several on the seat beside her.
“I apologize.” She sat up and shoved her feet back into her new silk slippers. “I’ll not make a mess of your library again.”
“Worry not, Ilsa, it does my heart well to see the books put to such enthusiastic use.” He reached out a hand. “Do bother with that later, will you? I think now is the time to…broach the uniqueness of our situation. Join me for a brandy in the drawing room.”
She rose and followed obediently, but the idea of brandy in the early afternoon twisted her stomach. “Perhaps I’ll merely sit with you while you drink. I’m not much for spirits during the day.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a wry tone. “I, for one, could use a drink.”
The jitter in her stomach increased. Was he unsatisfied? As outrageous as this situation was, she had decided she liked it here. After the glow of intense satisfaction had worn off and the embarrassment of being treated like a whore crept back in, she still decided she liked it here. This morning she’d bumped the fading bruise on her lower back and was reminded how nice it was not to be smacked about.
She hesitated in the center of the room, chewing her lower lip as he poured himself the brandy and took a deep mouthful. He paused, staring up at the portrait of his father. Finally, she could hold her tongue no longer.
“Mr. Stratton, er, Bradford, I…”
“I told you I would do anything for my father,” he started, as though he hadn’t heard her stammering. “His request I take a wife is not an unusual one. And it is not that I do not wish to be shackle-chained that I have resisted so long.”
She sank into a chair, wringing her hands.
“I am torn between obliging my father and obliging my own needs.”
She knew it. He was backing out. And there would be no offense in that, if he had not sampled her charms beforehand.
“I worry this arrangement will not work out.”

Of all the nerve. Hot anger built inside her, making it impossible to form words she needed to tell him, in no uncertain terms, how rude and incorrigible and nasty—
“My family has holdings in Aberystwyth, in particular a lovely cottage I think will suit you perfectly.”
She snapped her mouth shut.
He slugged back the remainder of the brandy and set the glass down on the marble-topped convenience, staring at it as though wanting to pour another.
“I’ll provide an allowance, of course.”
“Do you find me lacking, sir?” There was more hurt in her words than the edge of nastiness she’d intended. “Last night you called me perfect.”
He turned around, looking confused. “Not in the least, Ilsa. I promise you that. You are a beautiful and very desirable woman, and I quite like the delicate way you eat.” He smiled, but she didn’t return it. “I promised you will never have to return to the tailor’s again, and I meant it.”
“Then why?” Was she really protesting this dismissal? Dismissal to peace and solitude, no less?

For as long as she could remember she’d dreamed of a cottage all her own, far from the grime and smoke of the city. Where flowers grew and birds sang and she never had to worry about hateful words or a striking fist ever again. Where she never had to endure an old man who slapped at her breasts or dug his thumbs into her thighs until she cried out in pain and finally opened them…
But Bradford was no Dietrich. He was young, handsome and solidly built, blissfully lacking the ripe stench and sour breath. And though large and thick of manhood, he was a skilled lover who used it to bring exquisite pleasure. Hadn’t she such dreams for a husband as well?
Commotion in the doorway called their attention. “I rode ahead of the carriage upon my latest acquisition, Havers, a fine Arabian stallion I won in a wager in Dover. Lucky I did, I outran the storm.”
A handsome young man strode into the drawing room in riding attire. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, his face bearing the unblemished smoothness of the very young. With such light brown hair, his fair skin and dark eyebrows made a striking contrast so perfectly suited to him he was unearthly beautiful.
“Bradford. I couldn’t bear even one more day.” He crossed the drawing room in long strides without even noticing Ilsa, dropped his hat on a chase, and seized Mr. Stratton.
The young man tipped his head, gripped Bradford behind the neck and dragged him into a kiss.







Chapter Three

 
Ilsa frantically sought a plausible explanation as the kiss went on. Finally she allowed herself to see it for what it truly was.

They are lovers.
Bradford also tilted his head to lean into it, and she could see that both men were passionately locked in a very open-mouthed kiss. Her cheeks grew heated and her breath burned in her throat, but not because she was embarrassed. Their forbidden kiss was the most beautiful, erotically fantastic sight she had ever witnessed. A bolt of heat scored her center, ending between her legs.
Bradford placed his hand at the other man’s back, and when the younger responded by touching his hips, Bradford took him by the upper arms and eased away.
For a long moment they stared at each other. Ilsa could see confusion in the young man’s expression.
Then his gaze slipped past Bradford and found her. She felt frozen, mercilessly held prisoner by the young man’s fathomless dark eyes.
“You’ve done it.” He shifted, pushing past Bradford. But two paces forward he stopped. “You’ve bloody gone and done it.”
“Frederick, allow me to introduce Ilsa Bergstrom. I have asked her to be my wife.” Bradford’s words now sounded rough.
She would die if he stared at her any longer. Her heart kicked so fiercely against the walls of her chest it hurt.
“Bradford,” he said slowly, still watching her. “May I speak to you upstairs?” He spun on a booted heel and stalked from the room, not looking back to see if Bradford followed.
He didn’t. Instead, he crossed the wide room to her. Instinctively she stood.
“I’m sorry. I’d hoped that would have gone better.” When he gripped her hand she realized she’d been reaching out to him.
For a few hours, it had been a wonderful fantasy. A handsome, alluring gentleman of the peerage had wanted her. She had been Cinderella, rescued from the evildoers who plagued her simple life, and carried off to the palace where all her dreams would come true. Now she understood there were reasons beyond her control that decreed she could never have him.
She’d been right. When something seems too good to be true, it usually is.
“You understand now that my problem has nothing to do with you?”
She merely nodded and forced a small smile, if only to convey to him she didn’t judge, or condemn.
He matched her smile with a feeble one of his own. “Let me talk to him. Perhaps this situation can be salvaged. Who knows, it might work out after all.”
That simple statement had the power to suck the air from her lungs. Oblivious to her sudden distress, Bradford departed the room in pursuit of his lover and Ilsa drifted back into her chair.
It would not work out. It could not.
Because as young and innocent and beautiful as that boy looked, as good as Bradford had been to her, she would never surrender herself to more than one man at the same time…not ever again.

* * * * *

“Good God, Frederick, I’ve never seen you behave so rudely to a lady.”
Bradford’s anger vanished the minute he saw the agonized look on Frederick’s face. He was seated in a velvet-covered Queen Anne tugging off his boots, too distraught to remember the boot pull by the armoire. Bradford closed the door under Frederick’s accusing stare.
“What kind of lady wears a peasant’s dress?”
“What?” Bradford demanded, then wished it hadn’t come out as such a growl. Frederick was clearly hurting, though Bradford couldn’t imagine why. Hadn’t he learned, after all this time and all they’d been through, he would always be first in Bradford’s life?
Frederick tossed his boot aside and rose to stalk across the room to the dresser chest. Threads popped as he savagely yanked off his cravat in front of the mirror. He opened his shirt so hastily one pearl button popped off. Bradford stared at Frederick’s bared chest and his mouth watered. He wanted to embrace the lover he’d gone too long without, bare skin to bare skin, but Frederick was wounded. First, his injured heart had to be tended.
“Have I not made sacrifices for you?”
“Of course you have, Frederick—”
“And you could not make even a single sacrifice for me?”
Bradford guarded himself. “You know this isn’t about sacrifices.”
“It is precisely about sacrifices. But no, the minute your father beckons, you jump to attention like a well-trained dog.”
“Don’t.”
“She’s a beautiful woman.” Frederick glanced at the door, as if searching for Ilsa beyond it. “Did you taste her?”
He squared his shoulders. This was futile. Frederick’s behavior was juvenile and Bradford struggled with his anger even as he recognized the younger man felt threatened.
“Of course I ‘tasted’ her, as you so charmingly put it.” Before he even said the words he regretted them, but Frederick had provoked him, and Bradford felt it best to be honest from the very start. “She’s to fill a role, and I wanted to be certain she was acceptable.”
Frederick smirked. “So you’re off to make your little heir with her.”
Bradford lifted one shoulder. “Perhaps.”
“What does that mean?” Frederick scowled and shook his head, dismissing the question. “You couldn’t wait to discuss it with me, not even two days.”
“We have already discussed it, Frederick.” When he remained silent, Bradford forced himself to take a calming breath. “An opportunity presented itself. I took it. Isn’t that what you always say—”
“Do you love me?”
Now Bradford closed the distance between them. “How can you even ask that question? Of course I love you. If you must ask it then—”
Frederick seized him and kissed him roughly. Teeth grazed his lip painfully and even as Bradford knew the kiss was to punish, it stoked the fire that had been smoldering since seeing him come through the door in all the flair that was so wonderfully Frederick.
He tore open Bradford’s shirt and ripped it from his shoulders. His kiss turned desperate and Bradford returned it with fervor, anxious to show Frederick without words he had nothing to fear.
Frederick roamed with his hands, gliding his palms over Bradford’s chest and around his back. As wonderful as Ilsa felt under his hands when he touched her this way, her soft woman’s body could never replace Frederick’s strong one. Yet at that moment, feeling Frederick’s taut skin over hard muscle, he understood she complemented him.
Frederick suddenly broke their kiss and shoved at Bradford.
“Go away. I’m tired and I want nothing more than a hot bath.”
He’d had enough of this childish behavior. Bradford grabbed his shoulders and forced Frederick to face him when he tried to turn away. “You’ve been gone nine days, and I want nothing more than to touch you.”
Frederick hesitated, clearly torn between wanting him just the same, and wanting to pout. “Leave me alone. I don’t want you right now.” He shrugged away, but the effort was halfhearted and he stopped when Bradford took his arm.
“I think you do.” Bradford shoved him backward onto the bed.
Frederick sprawled across the mattress. He pushed onto his elbows, but otherwise made no move to rise. “Go diddle your woman.”
“Ah, Frederick, you’re so proud.” Bradford sloughed off his trousers and shoes in one fluid movement. He crawled over him, touching Frederick’s chest and dragging his hand over the bumps and ridges he loved so much. Frederick leaned up, tempting him with lips he kept just out of reach.
“You can’t have her and me both. I won’t share my bed.”
“Then I’ll send her away.” He tipped his head, satisfied when Frederick let him have the kiss. “But marry her I will.”
His next kiss was refused.
“Someday, you’ll have to marry as well.”
Frederick slapped his hand away. “I’ve already told my father to go to the devil.”
Bradford leaned back, grabbed the tight waist of Frederick’s woolen breeches and tore them open. He was bare beneath. Taller and stronger, Bradford easily dragged them off the squirming young man. Frederick’s cock was as hard as he’d ever seen it, blush red at the tip with powerful want. His own was so hard it ached.
“You’re the son of a baron with an enviable trust.” Bradford took him by the arm and flipped him over. “Don’t let your pride destroy it. Destroy us!”
Frederick growled a complaint, but landed neatly on his knees, thighs planted wide.
“You’re mine, and I’ll never let anyone come between us.” Bradford moved between his legs, guiding his cock to readiness with a hand.
“Did you fuck her in this bed?”
Bradford entered him roughly, spearing into the tender flesh with possessiveness. Frederick cried out and grasped the carved wooden headboard. He braced himself against Bradford’s violence. His body was dry and so tight, having no preparation, but Bradford needed to exert his dominance, and he knew Frederick needed to receive it. He nudged himself deeper with short but firm thrusts, not to be satisfied until buried all the way inside.
“Our bed,” he corrected through clenched teeth. God’s breath, but Frederick was so warm, the forbidden canal so soft against his plunder. “Where you shall fuck her as well, because I decree it.”
Frederick dropped his head to the pillow, gasping out breathy cries in time with each thrust. He gripped the carved wood, pressing back to accept the invasion. Bradford held his hips, digging his fingers into the masculine flesh. The way he’d fucked Ilsa only hours before. They both felt so magnificent, yet so different, and at that moment he knew he couldn’t live without each of them.
“God, Bradford. I love you.”
“Then show me. Never refuse me.”
“I won’t.”
“Take me. All of me.” He was now buried deep, his thrusts barely moving, pushing and pulling against the flesh that gripped him. His balls grew tight.

“God yes.
Harder, Bradford. Harder!”
He did, not moving so much as simply exerting a strong push and pull, but it was the delicious agony choking Frederick’s voice that drove him over the edge. He erupted, squirting slick seed deep into Frederick.
His lover’s words were now nothing but cries beautifully timed with Bradford’s hips. His motion increased until he was pulling out and plunging back in, the path now slicked with cum.
“Oh yes, oh God, yes, Bradford. Make me come.”
Frederick’s body shuddered from shoulder to hips, once, twice, before the tension in his body went limp, and Bradford immediately stilled. He withdrew gently and draped himself over Frederick’s sweaty back, hands running over trembling arms still gripping the headboard.
“We may be the Seconds,” he said, reminding him of their unique bond and the “club” name they had given themselves years ago—both of them second-born sons. “But you will always be first with me.”
Frederick twisted and collapsed on the bed. Bradford draped himself gently over him, worried by the wet trails he found on his cheeks. He swept one away with his thumb. “Never doubt my devotion to you.”
“I don’t.” He smiled bashfully. “I’m sorry if I’m intolerable sometimes.”
Bradford returned his smile. “And I’m sorry if I’m an ogre sometimes.” He pecked tiny kisses. “Did I hurt you?”
Frederick shook his head, smiling more broadly now. “Never.”
He kissed a path over Frederick’s jaw, down his throat and onto his chest. “Because I couldn’t bear it if I did.” He trailed kisses over the muscles and ridges until he found one nipple and gave it a lick. “If her presence in this house hurts you, I’ll send her away.”
Frederick sighed, but remained silent. He caressed Bradford’s hair, following his journey as he kissed and kissed and kissed until his mouth found Frederick’s waiting cock. He licked away a glistening drop of pre-cum, closing his eyes as he drew in Frederick’s magnificent flavor.
Bradford ran his tongue around the ridge of Frederick’s purpled head, and the sigh of pleasure it elicited was like music to his ears. As much as he enjoyed disciplining his young lover, he couldn’t bear it if Frederick were any less than entirely satisfied and happy.
He opened his mouth and gently drew Frederick’s cock inside, bowing his head to accept the upward thrust that pushed it deep into his throat. He shifted onto his knees, taking Frederick’s balls in one hand and working the shaft with the other. Frederick threw his arms wide, gripping fistfuls of the sheet. Bradford stroked him, cupping and squeezing, licking and sucking, until Frederick gave a choked cry. “Bradford. Now.”
The first jet of cum hit his mouth with the force of a nine-day absence finally released, and Bradford swallowed him down. He moved his hand to suck the length of Frederick’s shaft deep, until each bob of his head brought his nose to the curly patch of hair at its base. Frederick’s body trembled as he held every muscle taut, yet motionless, letting Bradford bring the pleasure. He was happy to, and finally felt himself forgiven as he swallowed the last drops. He released the spent cock and lay it down on Frederick’s abdomen as gently as a wounded baby bird. He then collapsed across the mattress beside him.
“Bradford. You really did miss me.”
“Of course I did, silly boy.”
Frederick turned suddenly and grabbed him, kissing deep to taste himself on Bradford. He closed his eyes and sighed. Before long, he fell asleep.
Bradford rose from the bed and picked up his shirt. Seeing the buttons torn off, he claimed another from the wardrobe. He washed himself, dressed and brushed his hair, then lightly tossed a sheet over Frederick. He would likely sleep the afternoon away and awaken later tonight. When he did, Bradford would be beside him.

* * * * *

She hadn’t meant to spy.
She’d run upstairs to explain that she wouldn’t allow herself to be the problem between them, but lost her nerve when she came to the closed door. She had no business intruding on them, even if it were only to promise herself away.
Ilsa then went into her bedroom and saw the adjoining door was also closed. The sound of their raised voices brought her across the room to lean against the door. It was the large, old-style keyhole letting their voices through. She heard the younger say, “She’s a beautiful woman,” yet his next words were muffled. She knelt down to place her ear next to the keyhole, but realized quite by accident, through its wide hole she could see the entire room.
“Of course I tasted her,” Bradford responded loudly, squashing any hope what the younger—Frederick—had said was actually a compliment. “I had to see that she was acceptable.”

Acceptable. She glanced down, a sore spot in her throat. She’d already decided she couldn’t stay here, that Bradford as Prince Charming was a fantasy already dissipated in a wisp of smoke. Yet still the words hurt.
She glanced up to see Frederick rip open Bradford’s shirt and the men press their bodies together, and her heart leapt into her throat.
They looked so beautiful together. As she witnessed another passionate kiss, her secrecy prevented any embarrassment. She indulged in the forbidden delicacy of it, wildly intrigued and aroused.
She almost wished she were a man. And why not? Perhaps men had to go to battle, but they were rewarded well for it. They had a vote in politics. They could possess wealth and property. Their voices were heard, respected. If she were a man, she’d be a man who preferred men, like them.
Of course changing into a man was impossible, and she could not deny a second-best fantasy would be to have these two protecting her. Bradford already proved he was a kind man and a gentle lover.
But the brazen younger man—Frederick—looked dangerous. There was wildness about his youth, an impetuousness in him that could prove treacherous. She suppressed a shudder as her mind went back to that horrible night…
Ilsa peered through the keyhole again to see Bradford throw the younger man onto the bed with effortless strength. She covered her mouth with a hand. Though he’d chosen to be gentle with her, she must never doubt his capacity for violence.
She heard Bradford say he would send her away, yet still intended to marry her. Her gaze drifted away for a moment as she contemplated this, unsure of how it made her feel, then snapped back to the keyhole again when she realized he was tearing the breeches directly off the younger man. Frederick appeared to be resisting, though even to her eyes it was obvious he was pretending.
Bradford flipped Frederick over, took his manhood in hand and guided himself to readiness.
Ilsa drew in a deep breath and smothered a gasp when Bradford thrust savagely into the young man, almost exactly the way he did to her last night.
She heard Frederick cry out, heard the bed squeaking, heard flesh slapping against flesh. Yet she did not hear a voiced refusal. She wondered if the enjoyment was the same for the young man as it had been for her. For that matter, if the enjoyment was the same, or more, for Bradford.
Warmth spread through her limbs and her pussy burned. It was so unnatural, so forbidden, so deliciously wicked…so beautiful.
Bradford gripped Frederick by the hips, pounding ferociously with his own, grunting out his pleasure from the sheer, physical power of it. Frederick braced himself on the headboard and pushed himself back to receive each divinely violent blow. At first, they seemed to rock together, but then as each man’s passion mounted, their bodies moved farther apart before slamming together again until Bradford fully disengaged from Frederick’s body and stabbed back inside with each ferocious thrust.
Her heart pounded and her breath grew thin. Frederick begged for more, Bradford obliged. Across the room they were in profile and she saw everything.
When they finally collapsed together on the bed, Ilsa could not make out their softly spoken words, but the sight of them together became even more beautiful for their intimacy.
Long moments passed, filled with slow caresses and whispered adorations, and then Bradford rose to his hands and knees, kissing his lover as though to explore every inch of him. Ilsa’s eyes filled with tears. This was the gentle lover she’d glimpsed, and Frederick was lucky enough to call him mate. Bradford kissed and licked a path down his body until he took the other man’s cock in his mouth and made love to him in the most intimate way possible.
She turned from the keyhole and rose on shaky legs. What they had was so pure and true. They defied God himself for their love.
As wonderful as it was, she could not be part of it.
She barely felt her feet moving across the plush rug as she walked back to the drawing room. She would wait for Bradford there and prepare her goodbye.

* * * * *

Dietrich paced the small kitchen. Too many female voices carried from the small bedroom he shared with Katrin. One of the women, an assistant to the midwife he guessed, had a shrill voice that set him on edge.
Katrin’s screams were driving him mad. They repeated so precisely one could set a clock by them. And they weren’t the pretty little screams she sounded when he fucked her, either. These were guttural, dying-pig sounds of agony that made his stomach swim.
“That’s good, child,” the midwife said. “Push.”
He gritted his teeth. In calling her “child“, the midwife was making a snide reference to her youth, and his age.
Roberta hurried through, hefting the bucket of newly warmed water. “Keep that cauldron stoked,” she snapped.
“Yes, yes.” He hated being ordered about by a woman.
He should be excited, but an underlying darkness told him something was wrong. The baby was early, but by the sounds of it, it was a big one.
“It’s most certainly a boy,” Roberta had told him when the labor started. “I can tell by the way she carries him low and forward.”
All Dietrich took that to mean was Katrin was fat. The midwife had given a vague nod in agreement. Their whispers in French had fouled his mood from the very beginning.

“Push!”

A grotesque grunting sound followed.

“Almost there now!”


“Eeeeeyyyyyyuuugggggh!”

“Here it comes.”
Katrin’s shrill scream cut like a knife.
“It’s a boy!”
Dietrich leapt to his feet and paced the room. A boy! Finally, a son!
A baby’s wail broke and rose in volume. It had strong lungs.
He forgot his worries. He would tell everyone. A son, finally, a son!
He didn’t know what to do first. He turned left, then back the other way, stalking into the bedroom.
Katrin was sprawled on the bed like a whale that had washed up during a storm. She whined his name. He strode to the bassinet where Roberta was laying the bundled form down.
“Let me see it.”
“Mr. Kilgard—” She straightened, bringing the babe close to her chest.
“It’s a boy, I heard her say so.”
“Yes, but…”
“Let me see it.”
Reluctantly Roberta held out the swaddled infant.







Chapter Four

 
“I suppose even though it must be obvious, an explanation is in order.”
Bradford strode into the drawing room and poured himself another brandy. This time, he stared at the liquid sloshing in the bottom of the glass but seemed disinclined to drink it.
Ilsa’s palms sweated. After sitting here for nearly half an hour, she’d begun to feel the villain for spying on their love.
“Mr. Stratton, I know my place,” she said, then cleared her throat and said more strongly, “you will tell me what you wish me to know.” At the very least, she no longer needed to act a mouse. She understood he’d not brought her here to test her compatibility as a lover, but to test her compatibility to tolerate his own unique situation.
He was listening, she could tell, even though he faced his father’s portrait. When she fell silent, he looked up at it for a moment, then turned to her. “Frederick and I gave ourselves a ‘club’ name many years ago. The Seconds, we call ourselves, because we are both second-born sons.”
“You have been together a long time, then,” she said, hoping her voice sounded encouraging.
“I found him when he was twenty years old. Six years we’ve lived our lives together.”
She didn’t ask what he meant by “found him“, only figured Bradford would explain if he wanted her to know. Twenty-six marked Frederick older than she’d first thought.
“In a way, you fit our club. Being tossed aside for another by that horrid little man.”
She forced herself to smile, even as his suggestion at her “membership” made her fear spike.
She rose from the chair. Of all absurdity, Bradford seemed ill at ease and she wanted to stanch it. “I understand our marriage will be on paper only, and I shall have to leave here.” Her cheeks heated as she worried she’d just given herself away for eavesdropping. “If you choose to continue with it,” she finished.
“I do,” he stated without hesitation. “Though your role here… I’m still not certain what it will be.”
“I do not wish to intrude where I’m not wanted.”
At this he waved his hand, sloshing the brandy. “Do not mind Frederick. He’s a tad impetuous at times.”
“Still, you have a very strong bond with him.” She really would give herself away if she wasn’t careful. “I don’t wish to be the damaging party within it.” Ilsa paced slowly across the room. She stood beside him at the portrait, careful not to get too close. Strange, but she already missed what she’d never really had.
“I shall make the choice for you. There are reasons why I cannot stay.” She supposed after what had been revealed to her, she owed him an explanation. She continued to stare at the portrait, unable to meet his eyes. She noted now, his father had been depicted in oils with kind eyes and a hint of an affable smile. She knew it was real because those traits had been passed down to Bradford.
“I told you the first night…I’ve endured treatment that caused me to fear. You understood it was bad treatment.”
“Yes,” he said quietly, no doubt sensing her need to unburden herself.
“A little more than a year ago…it was at the hands of three men. Dietrich arranged it.”
She looked at him in time to see his face show surprise, and then horror. “Good God, Ilsa. Are you certain of that?”
“He never spoke of it outright, but…I had no reason to believe their claims were not true.” She turned away. “He sent me to a furniture shop near the river with fabric for a set of chairs. When I arrived, the three of them, one of them a very young, burly man more suited to ship work than furniture, informed me Dietrich had sent me to them to be cured of…my defect.”
She shuddered at the memory. Bradford had gone deathly silent. “While I suspect Dietrich knows my inability to bear is as much his fault as mine, I understood he wanted a son so badly he would do anything to get it.”
“That is atrocious. What man wants a child that is not even his?”
“Dietrich is fifty-four years old. He is desperate.” She could only shake her head, for it made no sense to her either. “When I fully realized what was intended, my fear gave way to anger and part of me accepted, if only to spite him.”
Now she did face him. “It is the same reason I stepped into your carriage. To spite Dietrich.”
Bradford moved close with a frown fixed between his brows. “I am sorry, Ilsa. Had I known, I never would have…” He touched her arms gently.
“You could not have known.” She tilted her head and smiled. “Worry not. The nights spent here with you were nothing like that night.”
She eased from his touch and put a few paces between them, turning back to the portrait. Though she had resigned herself to telling this story for the first time ever, she could not do so while looking at him.
“They told me Dietrich sent me to them to use with as they wished, as long as one of them planted his seed. They bound my hands to the rungs of a wrought iron bed and took me on a bare mattress in their cold, drafty workroom, one after the other. The night passed in a haze of pain. The youngest of them, it seemed he never tired. I awoke several times in the night to find him on top of me again. In the morning, I couldn’t walk. They carried me outside, put me into a phaeton and paid the driver to return me to Whitechapel.”
She turned to face him, proud she had confessed her story without tears. Bradford watched her in silence, his eyes possessing a deadly gleam.
“You are imagining he should be punished,” she said softly.
“I am imagining he should be murdered.”
She clasped her hands together. “I did not refuse those men. Though had I known the pain they would inflict, I would have.”
“No woman should experience such repulsive torture, Ilsa. Even though you did not know exactly what they would do to you, they did. It is unforgiveable.”
She smiled again. “You are a good man, Bradford. What you and I shared here was nothing like that horrible night. But it is because of that night that I cannot stay here with you and Frederick. I cannot do that again, not ever. I do not possess the courage.”
“I will never ask you to do what you cannot.” He touched her arms again. “Frederick may seem gruff, but he merely puts on a dramatic front.”
She swallowed and glanced to the floor as the first twinges of sadness mingled with her fear. After all he’d given her in these few days—truly she’d lived like a princess—she regretted she could not oblige them.
“Stay a few days, a week at most, until the weather passes. Just to think on it. If you still want to leave when the roads are clear, I’ll have my driver carry you to Aberystwyth immediately after our marriage ceremony. I’ll require nothing of you in the interim, save you take your meals with us.”
When she didn’t respond he lifted her chin with a fingertip. “One week, Ilsa. It is all I will ask of you.”
Her stomach swooped as she nodded. “All right. One week.”

* * * * *

A small affair had been planned for dinner with the Earl of Brighton and his wife, Lady Waxford. Frederick, exhausted after his travel, did not attend. Though it was a pleasant evening in which she and Bradford did not have the opportunity to discuss personal matters, Ilsa found herself distracted nonetheless. But Lady Waxford was a lovely woman who seemed to accept Bradford’s yarn about her status as the daughter of a wealthy textiles baron from Norway, and chatted enough for the both of them. Dressed in a new gown of gold taffeta, Ilsa stopped feeling like an imposter when she saw her reflection. She’d made dresses like this for fine ladies and knew what such fabric alone would cost.
Lady Waxford became excited when she learned of their plans for a quiet, private wedding, and not only volunteered to handle the necessary details for the announcement, but begged to help arrange the ceremony. With no daughters of her own, it would be a pleasure she’d so far been denied. Ilsa looked at Bradford for his approval. He was as charming as a prince, and after saying, “as long as it is a small, private affair,” and then reminding her again “a small, private affair,” he agreed. Lady Waxford’s excitement was contagious and in the end Ilsa felt happy for obliging her. Bradford added, “it should be a small, private affair,” and everyone laughed.
The next morning Frederick was also suspiciously absent from breakfast, but Bradford waved away her concerns.
“I promise you, he’s in much higher spirits today.”
Though when lunch finally arrived, Frederick seemed wholly unconcerned with her. The three of them joined in the too-large dining hall where Frederick and Bradford talked about the horse he’d procured, the breeder he’d visited, the business he’d handled at the shipyard he and Bradford owned together, and a particularly wicked practical joke one of their friends had played upon another. Bradford made efforts to include her in the conversation, but for the most part Ilsa sat in silence and picked at her food.
In the afternoon Ilsa found a sanding block and made her way back to the attic. The quiet pleased her. Having leisure time was an unknown luxury and she felt idle without something to do. Discovering this damaged furniture that needed her was like finding a friend.
She hung her lamp on the hook and threw open the dormer windows. Though the day was chill and damp with the threat of rain, a brisk breeze washed the attic air clean and the gray sky bathed it in a pleasing, milky light.
Ilsa pulled one of the old Chippendale side chairs to an open area in the middle of the attic and noticed its carvings matched a squat hutch standing against the far wall. She brought the chair close to it and examined the scrollwork. At one time, this had been a fine dining set. She took her block and went to work sanding the back of the chair, buffing out its scratches. She would smooth them but not remove them, leaving a history in the chairs that would hint at stories gone by. With a fresh stain and new fabric, they would be lovely. Perhaps Bradford would let her take the set to the cottage, if it was in need of furniture.
Booted footsteps tapped a crisp pace up the stairs. She knew it wasn’t Elsabeth, and it certainly wasn’t old Havers, who she’d suspected had called Elsabeth to help her because he couldn’t make it up the long flight of stairs, so she didn’t turn around when her visitor entered and lingered in the doorway.
For too long she felt herself being watched as she sanded out a deep groove from the back of the chair, but suspected he needed these moments.
“Why do you bother with those old things?” Frederick finally asked in a cautious tone. “They’re kindling.”
She set the block down and stood, smoothing her hands on her apron as she faced him. “Just because something is old doesn’t mean it’s worthless.”
She glimpsed a whisper of a smile. “True enough.” He moved deeper into the attic and pretended to survey an old iron birdcage. She waited in silence as he browsed through the trove of forgotten treasures.
“I thought you should know,” he began idly, “that is, I have decided I approve of your marriage to Bradford. I didn’t at first, but now I see the logic in it.”
“Oh?” she asked simply.
“I hope you’ll reconsider and stay.”
She glanced away. Bradford had been courteous in not pressing her, but she suspected he’d put the younger man up to an apology of sorts as his method to persuade.
“Give him the heir he and his father both want so badly.” He flipped a hand. “Truly, I don’t care what he does in your bed, as long as he always returns to mine.”
“You’ve had an abrupt change of mind.” She shivered as she thought back to the scene she’d witnessed when Bradford stated Frederick would fuck her because he decreed it.
“Truth be told, it would be nice to have a little whelp running about.”
He strolled closer. When he turned to look at the mysterious piles of forgotten furniture to her left, his gaze passed over her breasts, not her eyes.
“Bradford told you that we call ourselves ‘the Seconds’.”
“Yes.”
“And you are a ‘second’ as well. Did he also tell you how we came to be?”
Now he did meet her eyes but her heart was beating so fiercely she couldn’t form words. She shook her head.
He went back to the birdcage and opened its small gate. Closed it.
Opened it again. “My father is the Baron Chesterwick. My elder brother has been sickly his whole life. I’ve two younger brothers—twins— are content to wait for his demise but see me, their queer brother, as the obstacle in the way of their inheritance. I made little secret of my habits, in fact I quite enjoyed vexing them. I was on my way to a private men’s club,” his gaze flicked to hers pointedly and she knew precisely what kind of men’s club,” when I was attacked by hired bone breakers who dragged me into an alley and tried to beat me to death.”

“My God.” What she’d endured suddenly seemed paltry in comparison.
“Bradford saw it, and by himself rescued me. I was nearly unconscious and remember little of it, but I will never forget opening my eyes to see the tall, handsome man looming over me. He put me in his carriage and tried to take me home, but when he asked who I was, I responded by saying ‘I’m no one’. He brought me here and I’ve never left.”
He stood back and this time when he met her eyes, his gaze held. “With family who intends to do me harm, Bradford tells me I have something in common with you.”
She turned away, pretending to notice a new scratch in the chair. “Are you certain it was your family who conspired against you?”
“Are you?”
“Mr. Kilgard is not my family.”
“Yet he is someone you should have been able to trust.”
The words carried more sympathy than she’d expected. She faced him again, seeing him glance surreptitiously from her breasts. Confessing her situation to Bradford had been difficult, but once spoken, she’d been glad she had. Now the fear and humiliation had dulled and she no longer dreaded speaking about it. Since coming here she felt stronger, more deserving of dignity. She had Bradford to thank for that, in a way.
“He told me what happened to you.” Frederick didn’t exactly smile, but his face revealed a friendliness she never expected to see in him. “You’ve more courage than I credited you. At the very least, you don’t deserve my resentment.”
“Don’t pity me, sir.” Her words possessed a sharp bite, but Ilsa felt they were justified.
“Please, call me Frederick. Though my brother’s demise is expected by all, I pass each day with a prayer I shall never be Lord.”
“Very well, Frederick. You may tell Mr. Stratton I’ve accepted your peace offering, and I’m still considering his offer.”
His gaze slipped over her body before finding an old music box to examine on a wobbly table. She wondered if he’d ever seen a naked woman before.
“Bradford did not send me.” He gave a half shrug. “I felt I owed him to put this matter to right. It isn’t my place to go mucking up his affairs. It…it was just merely a shock to find you here, but only because I returned a day early to find you already in place. His plans to marry were not unknown to me.”
“I see.”
He faced her, wearing a frown. “Tell me, why did you stay with that awful man?”
This young boy who preferred men, he truly did not understand the plight of women. “There are few options for a thirty-year-old seamstress so far barren of child.”
“You yourself said, just because something is old does not mean it is worthless.” He smiled. “Besides, you are hardly old, and quite pretty enough to turn heads.”
“My choices would have been to die or become a whore. Had I gone to whoring, it would make every night like that one.” She swallowed.
He stepped close, making her heart leap into her throat.
“Ilsa, what those men did was cruelty of the most unholy kind. You never have to fear cruelty from us.”
He’d said “us”. She knew now, to stay would not make her Bradford’s wife and lover. It would make her both of theirs. A thrill of fear raced up her spine.
“I appreciate such a promise.” She glanced at the rough wooden floor. Now it was she who could not look him in the eye. “More than you shall ever know.”
“I’ll leave you to your task then.” He started to leave, but turned back. “I hope you decide to stay. I admit, you brighten up the place.” Another subtle glance over her breasts.
“Would you like to see them?”
His attention perked. “What?”
She brought her fingers to the collar and began unbuttoning the long row of tiny buttons on her demure dress. He watched, gaping but silent. She went slowly down the long row, giving him time to stop her, refuse or turn away.
But he did none of those. His deep brown eyes were wide, his dewy face even younger under the obvious wonder he now wore. He had full, pretty lips, almost like a girl’s, and they pursed together when the cleft of her bosom was revealed.
She shrugged her dress off her shoulders and released the tie on her corset laces. She worked the edge of her shift lower. With slow, deliberate movements, she pulled the fabric away from one breast, then the other.
Now he stared unabashedly, his eyes moving back and forth over them. “They are beautiful.” He stepped closer and reached out a hand. He caught himself and met her eyes.
Ilsa took his hand and brought it to the side of her breast. He drew in a hiss of breath, merely touching the skin. She removed her hand, giving him rein to do as he wished. Frederick slid his palm across the curve, using his thumb to circle and cup the mound. His fingertips dragged over her skin until they came together in a light pinch of her nipple.
She closed her eyes and sighed.
“Does it feel nice?” His question was so softly spoken she barely heard.
“It does,” she retuned in the same breathy whisper.
He then moved in with his other hand, cupping and fondling both breasts, exploring her like it was the first time ever. It probably was. He traced the heavy curves, even once lifting them as if to gauge their weight. He squeezed lightly and pinched her nipples again. When she gave another sigh, he tugged gently.
“May I…” And then his mouth was upon her, pressing a light kiss to the inner curve of her right breast. He shifted closer and his arms circled her back. She touched his shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze of encouragement. His exploration was soft and hesitant, pure innocence, and it enchanted her like magic.
His tongue touched her skin, licking a path to her nipple, and his lips closed over it.
“Oh.” She arched her back and raked her fingers over the soft fabric of his fine shirt.
His lips puckered, giving a tug. It popped from his mouth with exquisite suction. “Your skin is so sweet.” Then he returned his mouth, suckling more firmly. Ilsa caressed his silky hair as divine heat washed from head to toe.
“I’ve never been inside a woman.” Warm breath puffed over the wet spot left by his mouth. Ilsa’s own breath was thin and burning hot in her throat.
“Then I’ll be your first.”
Ilsa didn’t know why she’d said that. This man was too young to interest her, yet she felt compelled to be his first lover. It was either extreme generosity on her part, or selfishness. Perhaps equal parts of both.
He tightened his arms around her back and his mouth clamped on to her nipple. He sucked on the tight bud until she felt abraded, but it drove her wild with need.
He clutched at her skirts, balling them in his arms until his hands were roaming beneath. A spike of pure lust lanced her pussy. He was clumsy, a bit rough, practically desperate—but she needed him to be.
Fingers came into contact with her pussy through the open slit of her bloomers and Frederick froze. Even his mouth on her breast went still.
“Touch me,” she beckoned.
He stroked gently before swirling a fingertip through the weeping moisture revealing her desire. “I want to see you.”
He eased away, letting her skirts fall into place. His deploring glance begged for permission.
Ilsa stepped back, feeling utterly wanton with her breasts still hanging free. She leaned on the edge of the hutch, placing her feet wide.
Frederick held her gaze as he took the two steps to bring them back together, staring at her the whole time as if expecting her to change her mind.
He knelt in front of her and flipped her skirts up onto her lap. First Ilsa felt the rustle of her bloomers being pulled open, then a puff of breath. Cautious, hesitant fingertips gave a barely-there touch, and then she felt him gently pull at her outer lips. By now she was soaked with the juices of raw lust.
Frederick used one fingertip to trace through the hidden pearly flesh, then pressed at her opening. She leaned back, all but ready to scream for him to push inside. Instead, he swiped with his tongue, lapping the length of her, nibbling at her swollen bud.
The sensation was shocking and magnificent. Ilsa cried out. Her body trembled with climbing need. Outside, thunder rumbled.
More courageous, Frederick’s finger returned and poked at her entrance.
“Frederick, please.”
“Shall I stop?”
“No!”
He pushed into her. At the first knuckle he hesitated, then continued until his finger was buried inside. “You’re so tight. It seems impossible you can fit anything more.”
The finger withdrew. She wanted—needed—so much more. Ilsa sat up.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
She laced one arm around his neck and pulled him close. His body was hard, wonderfully muscled. “You won’t. I know you won’t.” She pressed her face against his neck. She fumbled at the laces of his breeches, tripping over his own hand. Together they worked him free.
Frederick shoved his breeches over his hips and Ilsa grasped his cock.
“God,” he said on a breath when her hand closed around him. He was throbbing hard, stretched free of his foreskin.
Ilsa gathered up her infernal skirts again and stepped close, arranging herself over him. He held his shaft in his hand, and when she felt the crown seek her, she shifted her hips to help him into place. She grasped his waist, swiveled herself to urge the tip into the divot of her entrance.
“Like this?”

“Oh God, yes.”

The swollen bulb met the resistance of her barrier for only an instant, then he pushed inside.
A moan dragged out of him. Frederick slid his hands under her skirts and grabbed her ass. He was tall, strong and confident. With his knees bent slightly, he angled beneath her and drove upward, nearly carrying her off her feet. She was slippery and ready, and he sank deep. Divinely, deliciously deep.

“So soft.
So tight.” He bit her collarbone. “So slick.”
He seemed to test her, not sure how to move, how deep he should go, how fast he should thrust. She hadn’t expected him to be so large, she’d been betrayed by his youth. Though of average girth, he was magnificently long. The cap of his cock met the end of her channel and gave a selfish nudge for more.
“Oh,” she said over a smile. “Oh my.”
Sweat beaded his brow. He matched her smile. “I’ve heard it called a glove, but I had no idea.”
“Fuck me, Frederick.”
He did. Though cautiously at first, her squeezing hands urged him faster. He bucked his hips, increasing the motion until he was sliding in and out of her cream like the most seasoned lover.
“When it is done right,” she told him over her breathy gasps, “it is so, so right.”
“Such a wonderful gift to bestow,” he ground out through clenched teeth.
Faster and faster, they rocked together in a glorious dance of sexual satisfaction. Her pleasure built gradually, like slow steps higher and higher on some ethereal staircase. Frederick bent his head to her chest and gasped. Ilsa felt his movements become labored, then there was the heat and moisture of his cum spilling inside her. He growled out some unintelligible grunt, finally holding himself fast inside her.
They stood perfectly still for a long moment, and Ilsa suspected regret in him.
“Did you…enjoy it?” he asked cautiously, still pressing his face to her neck.

“Very much.”

He withdrew from her slowly and Ilsa felt a trickle of moisture on her thigh. Her skirts fell back into place and Frederick repaired his breeches. She turned away and did her best to fix her shift and corset. A bit rumpled but closed up well enough, she faced him again.
“Did you…truly? Because it wouldn’t hurt my pride to know my first attempt was less than expert.”
Ilsa smiled. “You were wonderful, Frederick.”
His shoulders relaxed. “I thought it was wonderful, too. Thank you, Ilsa. I enjoyed it… Bloody hell it was fantastic.”
She laughed.
“I understand Bradford’s interest in you now. Truth be told, I share it.”
Before she could stop herself, her smile dimmed.
“I cannot conceive of any man who would choose to make it any less than perfect like that. But it is a well-known fact there are many stupid men.”
She merely nodded and glanced at the floor, suddenly conflicted.
“You can believe my promise, Ilsa. You’re safe here.” He turned and headed for the door. Before descending the stairs, he glanced back. “And I meant it when I said I truly hope you’ll stay.”

* * * * *

One nice thing about Stratton House, to be certain, was the large claw-foot tub in her bath. She could bathe every day if she wished, and she did. Mary did a fine job keeping the water warm, and for the first time since she was a child, Ilsa actually soaked.
She knotted up her still-damp hair and Mary pulled her corset strings tight with a grunt.

“Mary, dear.” Ilsa dragged in a breath. “I’m going to dinner. Allow me some room to fit a bite of food.”
“Sorry miss. Lady Constance, who’s I worked for before, she liked her laces as tight as I could get ‘em. My fingers learned to be strong.”
“Perhaps you haven’t noticed about me, but I’m not nearly so formal. I like to breathe as well.”
Mary giggled. “So be it, miss.”
The girl had warmed to her right away. And Ilsa had warmed to the staff as well. They all seemed to have relaxed with relief since Frederick’s return, no doubt assuming she’d learned the secret held between the two men and accepted it.
Already in the long dining hall, both Bradford and Frederick stood when she entered. Bradford was stunning in a dark suit that made his blue eyes brighten like the sky on a clear summer day, and Frederick was dapper in a brown dinner coat that complemented his unique coloring.
They both greeted her.
“Good evening,” she returned.
Bradford helped her into the seat at his left, across from Frederick.
Immediately they were served a course of carrot soup.
“Made from my summer stock,” Bradford said with a hint of pride. “Maurice tells me you haven’t yet listed your favorite foods.”
“My tastes are not finicky.”
He’d asked her to visit with Maurice, for not only did the cook need to know what she liked but as lady of the house, overseeing the kitchens would be her responsibility. She still had not done so.
Her dalliance with Frederick this afternoon had been more than wonderful, but he’d still been only one man. And though she already had a deep attraction to Bradford on more levels than simply sexual, and she had become aware of Frederick’s appeal as well, Ilsa still could not overcome her fear of sex with two men.
Should she stay, she knew they would expect it. A tiny flicker of unease lingered in the back of her mind as she remembered the pain those three heathens had caused her, and she worried she would not even be able to tolerate Bradford and Frederick’s traded-off use of her.
“Ilsa, are you quite well?” Frederick stopped his story about a horserace in Dover upon which he’d won a great wager, while his younger brothers had reputedly fallen even deeper into a debt their father refused to cover for them. “You’re looking flushed.”
“I’m fine, Mr. Brudenel.” She glanced at the server, hoping he hadn’t noticed her blush. Bradford eyed her suspiciously.
Frederick picked up his wineglass and swirled the golden liquid. “Lady Ilsa knows how I came to be,” he started once the server was out of earshot. “And I know how she came to be, but does the lady know how Bradford came to be?”
Bradford sliced into a very rare strip of flank steak. “That is a dull story better saved for another time.”
“On the contrary, it’s rather exciting. Lady Ilsa, our Bradford is something of a hero.”
Her cheeks burned anew. He’d called Bradford “our”.
“Frederick. You aim to embarrass me.”
“Should you learn to accept a compliment, that would no longer happen.”
“I’d much rather hear about the gowns delivered today for Ilsa.” Bradford pointedly turned his attention to her. “Did you find them acceptable?”
She nearly choked on a bite of potato. Dresses had been delivered today? She hadn’t noticed and Mary hadn’t mentioned it.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Bradford. Would you prefer to tell the story yourself?”
Bradford sighed. “Go ahead, Frederick, if you’re so intent.”
Frederick seemed delighted. “Bradford was a hero in the Crimean war.”
Now he rolled his eyes. “Oh no, not that too.”
Frederick laughed. “But Bradford first became a hero when he was a mere lad just turned fourteen years old and one night saved his father’s life.”
“Oh my,” Ilsa fawned, hoping her rudeness for not noticing the gowns, which surely cost a fortune if the first one was any indication, had been forgotten.
“His elder brother—then nineteen, was it Bradford?—was in a hurry to inherit his birthright. It seems Bradford’s brother, Nolan, disagreed with the earl over many political and personal matters concerning the estate. Not to mention itching to get his hands on the family fortune as if he had the pox.”
“Frederick, you make my brother sound almost honorable.”
Ilsa wasn’t sure if that was a joke until Frederick chuckled.
“I do apologize, but each of your families sounds absolutely wretched. Does nobody treat their loved ones well anymore?”
Bradford leaned his elbows on the table with his wineglass stem pinched delicately between two fingers. “It is a travesty, Ilsa. That is why it is so important we take it upon ourselves to make right the wrongs we’ve suffered.”
“And put those who wrong us in their place,” Frederick added with a sharper tone.
Bradford leaned back. “Not all our family members are horrid. Frederick has a younger sister who is quite enchanting, and my father is a great man whom I admire immensely. He knew about me before I knew myself.” He glanced at Ilsa with a raised brow. “As a lad I’d not learned to disguise my stares of longing at the bare-chested men laboring in my father’s stables. One strapping man in particular.”
“Ah yes, Alfonso. Whatever happened to him, Bradford?”
“I do believe he’s warming the bed of one very unhappily married duchess. Anyhow, on with the story.”
“Oh, do tell me more about your father,” Ilsa said before Frederick could. She refrained from voicing her desire to meet the man. As his for-appearances wife only, she might not be granted such a privilege.
“Perhaps he accepted me so easily because my brother was such a cad. All our lives Nolan strove to outdo me, needing to beat me in some imagined challenge or another only he knew about. I suppose it enraged him that I cared so little. My mother lived until I was nine, and I suspect I was her favorite as well.”
“I was four when my mother died. I hardly remember her,” Ilsa confessed. “My father was a good man, too, but he drank away much more than his woes.” She smiled. “I thank him for my ability to sew. He told me the best thing I could do is learn a skill because no one could ever take it away from me. He’d grown so ill in later years it was I who then took care of him, and thus had no opportunity to marry. That is why I turned to my sister when he died.”
“And what an unlucky happenstance she was married to the worthless mongrel she was.” He raised his glass. “Though I will say, it was a lucky happenstance for us.”
“You are too kind.” His statement made her stomach twitter with nervousness.
“Perhaps these unpleasant roads we’ve traveled were part of our destinies. Had Frederick’s brothers not tried to murder him, he and I might never have met. My brother is selfish, spoiled and unpleasant, but perhaps it was these shortcomings that taught my father to enjoy my company so much more.”
Frederick dismissed him with a toss of his hand. “Ilsa, Bradford is too modest as well. Allow me to finish telling the story and you’ll agree it is his own merits which make him his father’s favorite, not his brother’s lack thereof.”
Bradford smirked. “Go on, if you must.”
Ilsa chuckled. Bradford and Frederick’s comfort with each other was a thing to be envied.
“Bradford’s father had broken his ankle in a riding accident and had the sternest nurse you ever did see. Confined to bed and an infirmary chair, wasn’t it, Bradford? Well one night Bradford sneaked into his room and helped him out of bed to watch a meteor shower through the telescope. They heard someone working the locked door and hurried the old man back to bed, afraid to catch a scolding from that nasty nurse. Bradford hid behind a curtain, certain the burly woman would merely check on his father and leave. Only it wasn’t the nurse who entered the room, it was an assailant dressed in a monster’s mask. He grabbed the earl’s shoulders and shook him ferociously, shouting and acting mad.”
“Dear Lord!” Ilsa exclaimed. “To what purpose?”

“Why, to scare him to death, of course.”

She gasped.
“That is what I believe,” Bradford interjected gently.
“Anyhow, here comes Bradford bursting from the curtain, grabbing the first thing he saw to crack the attacker over the head—a flower vase.”
Now Ilsa laughed with joy. “You didn’t!”

“A great, heavy, bronze vase.” Bradford grinned. “Gave off a sound like an oriental bong.”

“And knocked the attacker flat on his face. Perhaps a few of his teeth were cracked in the process.”
“Not to mention his skull,” Bradford added.

“My goodness!”

“I was a gangly youth and that vase weighed nearly as much as I did. I ran to my father’s side and helped him off the bed, pulling the bell rope for all I was worth. The intruder managed to get to his hands and knees and crawl to the balcony, where he slithered away like a snake.”
“Did you see his face?”
“As heroic as Frederick makes me sound, truth be told I was scared out of my wits and had I even thought to unmask him, I’m quite certain I would have been too terrified to try. But afterward, my father and I both agreed the intruder was my brother. There was a familiar curve to his shoulders, his undeniable pigeon-toed gait and we both saw his hands quite clearly.”
Ilsa took a cooling drink of water. “Merciful heavens.”
“Thank goodness my father had only been pretending sleep, or he would have been frightened to death.”
“And what of the goose egg that surely crowned the skull of this assailant?”
“Nolan concocted an excuse, of course. He was supposed to be in London at the time and claimed he fell from a horse. In fact, he returned home two days later with his arm in a sling and his face covered with bruises. Though to this day I believe he suffered not some purposeful riding accident, but the wrath of one of his creditors. Nolan has always had a problem with gambling.”
“Like my charming brothers,” Frederick added wryly.
By this time their plates were being cleared away for dessert. A sinful slice of chocolate cake was placed in front of Ilsa, and her wine replaced with champagne.
When they were alone again, Bradford continued. “My father never so much as accused Nolan before the family, but after a private meeting in which very stern orders were heard behind the closed door, my brother vacated the house for the townhouse in London where he lives now. He is invited home for Christmases, weddings and funerals only. My father provides an allowance just generous enough to keep him obedient, but not enough to fuel his arrogance as it once did.”
“And because of our intrepid hero’s quick thinking and selfless courage, not to mention his charming personality, he is rewarded with familial preference and all the spoils you see here.” Frederick opened his arms wide.
Bradford waved him away and dug into his cake. “It was more rash impulsiveness than ‘quick thinking’. And my father has always been a fair man. I’m quite certain I’d have been given Stratton House regardless. Only I prefer to live this far from London.”
Ilsa took a sip of her champagne. The bubbly drink frothed on her tongue, adding to the excitement prickling her skin. “The only part of that story I don’t believe was that you were ever gangly.” She smiled. “I, for one, think it’s an incredible story of remarkable bravery.”
Bradford seemed surprised and returned her smile. She met his dashing blue eyes, seeing him in a new light she found quite pleasing. Quite pleasing indeed.







Chapter Five

 
For days he waited for the baby to lose its dark pink color and turn white like it was supposed to. He’d seen babies before, they were whiter than anything else. Katrin was as pale as a squid, and his family were all fair with light blue eyes.
But that baby wasn’t going to turn pale, no matter what Roberta or that damned midwife said. The dark hair that had dried into a mat of rough little coils had fallen out in the week since its birth, but he knew it wouldn’t grow back blond like it should.
He pricked his finger with a needle and shouted out a curse before he remembered Lady Milton in the parlor. He was irritable and tense, and it was Ilsa’s fault.
He should have known Katrin couldn’t be trusted. Looking back now, he realized he’d been played the fool from the moment she came here with her lies about his mother’s cousin. She was already knapped by another man, a lowly servant probably, and so desperate for shelter she’d say—and do—anything. Ja, she’d warmed his bed quite eagerly enough and he’d enjoyed her smooth young body, but Ilsa was the one who should bear him a son. He’d paid for it, giving her the room all these years that he could rent out for a tidy sum and feeding the fat woman. She owed him.
He needed to rid himself of his current problem. And he needed Ilsa back where she belonged, doing her share of the work, cooking his meals and warming his bed, making him the son he was meant to have.

One problem at a time.


* * * * *

“Miss Ilsa, is you up there?”
Ilsa was working on the fourth chair in the attic when Mary’s hesitant call carried up the stairs. She’d learned Mary was more frightened of the attic than Elsabeth, and not because of the spiders. She had a strong belief in spirits and worried the former occupants of Stratton House frequented the attic to be near their old belongings.
Ilsa set her sanding block down and went to the door. “Yes, Mary. What is it?”
“Mr. Stratton requests your presence in the study, miss.”
“I’ll be down immediately.”
She found Bradford seated behind his immense desk speaking to a bespectacled little man in a plain suit who leaned over the papers spread across the desk.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had a guest.” She smoothed her hands over her sooty apron, hoping she didn’t have grime under her fingernails.
“Mr. Williams, meet Miss Bergstrom, my wife-to-be. Ilsa, Mr. Williams from Hawthorne’s, the office of my solicitor.”
The chubby man beamed as he reached for her hand. “Miss Bergstrom, what a delight.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m afraid I’ve been engaged in rather unladylike activities.”
“Ilsa has been trying to revive a set of dining chairs she found in my attic.” Bradford wore an approving smile.
“Aha, worry not, dear lady. I’ll confess I find assertiveness in a person an admirable trait. My wife has a cook and a maid, but she insists on cooking and serving all my meals herself and I’m a happier man for it.” He patted his very round stomach.
“At my request Mr. Williams has drawn up the pre-wedding arrangement we discussed.” Bradford’s smile turned sly.
“Oh?”
Mr. Williams picked up one of the papers. “This is the deed to the estate in Aberystwyth.” He handed it to her, then retrieved a second. “This document will return with me to my office. I’ll handle the transfer of your funds starting on the first of the month, next Saturday. Congratulations on your nuptials, by the way. It’s always an exciting time for a bride.”
She glanced at Bradford, confused.
“Now, where do you bank, Miss Bergstrom?”

“Bank?”

“Er, perhaps you should arrange for services at Hawthorne’s,” Bradford suggested.

“A wonderful idea. That will prove most convenient. I can return in two days with the necessary documents, if that is acceptable.”

“Ilsa?” Bradford asked.
“Of course,” she stammered, still numb from the proclamation the cottage Bradford promised her was in fact an estate. She glanced at the document and her eye landed on the words “nine acres”.

Havers appeared in the doorway. “Pardon me, Mr. Stratton. A visitor to see you.”
“Yes, who is it?”

“A Miss Green from Whitechapel.”

The room began to spin. Roberta Green was the tailor’s primary fabrics provider and Ilsa’s one friend. But why would she come here? And why would she ask for Bradford? Dietrich had sent her. That could be the only reason.
“Have her wait in the drawing room.” Bradford no longer smiled.
“Well then, I’ll be on my way. Miss Bergstrom, if I may?” Mr. Williams held out his hand and she returned the document. He slipped it into a heavy envelope and tied the flap shut with its attached ribbon. “Keep this in a safe place,” he said, handing it back to her.
“I will, thank you.”
He closed his briefcase and donned his hat. “I’ll return in two days time with your documents. Miss Bergstrom, it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Congratulations again on your nuptials.”
“Thank you, Mr. Williams.”
“Mr. Stratton, good day.”
“Ilsa, I wish a word.”
At Bradford’s stern command, she sat in the visitor’s chair.
“No need to see me out,” Mr. Williams said. “I know the way.” Nevertheless Havers trailed him out. With both men departed, silence weighed heavy in her ears.
“There can only be one reason Miss Green is here.” Bradford stood and walked to a safe in the wall behind a painting that was standing open on hinges like a door. “How much did you earn at Kilgard’s?”
“Earn?”
He turned and cocked his head.
“I earned no salary.”
Bradford frowned. “How were you compensated for your services?”

“With room and meals. Why do you ask?”
He turned back to the safe and muttered something unflattering under his breath. He returned to his desk with a stack of notes larger than she’d ever seen in her life. Counting out pound notes faster than she could keep up, he suddenly paused. “How would you rate the quality of that room and those meals?”
His obvious anger simmered under a very thin barrier. Her nervousness mounted.

“Compared to this, horrid.” She forced a smile. When he didn’t smile with her, she sighed. “My room was drafty and my bed linens made from fabric scraps. The meals were cooked by me, so the quality was whatever I could draw out of the ingredients. Upon Katrin’s arrival, I ate last of whatever was left.”
Bradford growled low in his throat, flipped out a few more pound notes and returned the stack to the safe. He slammed its front shut, threw the tumbler once and closed the painting. He wrapped the notes in brown paper and dropped the wad into a messenger’s sack. “Come.”
He rounded his desk. Ilsa stopped him with a hand on his arm, still clutching the envelope in the other. “Bradford, Roberta Green may be his messenger, but she is not his conspirator. She is my friend.”
Only then did his shoulders relax. “Fear not, I won’t make an enemy out of her. But she must understand my sincerity, so that in turn Kilgard understands it as well.”
She swallowed and nodded.
Roberta was examining the piano when they discovered her in the drawing room, standing a few paces back from it as though afraid it were fragile. She revealed a brief smile upon seeing Ilsa, but that smile dimmed when she glanced at Bradford. She dipped. “G’day, sir.”
“Roberta, it’s good to see you.” Ilsa crossed the room and gave the plump older woman a hug while Bradford headed to the convenience.
“And you, in one piece, I’ll say,” Roberta whispered. “I been mighty worried.”

“Whatever for?”

She glanced past Ilsa to Bradford, who poured himself a brandy with his back to them.
“After what happened to that poor little maid, Angelina, why, anyone who cared a whit about you would worry.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice even more. “Are you truly well?”
Ilsa shuddered at the reminder of the young girl foolish enough to get into a nobleman’s carriage. It was that girl Ilsa had thought of when climbing into Bradford’s. Six days Angelina had been missing, tortured nearly to insanity by the old codger’s perverse acts.
She squeezed Roberta’s hands. “I am well, I promise it.”
Roberta looked over her dirty apron. “You look as though he’s keeping you busy with real work. Thank the heavenly stars above.”
“Miss Green. You bring a message from Kilgard?”
Roberta winced at the gruffness in Bradford’s words.
She turned and curtsied again. Poor thing, Bradford had her shaking in her shoes.
“Er, eh, Mr. Kilgard asks when Miss Ilsa’s coming home. Her work has fallen behind.”
“Miss Bergstrom will not be returning to Kilgard’s. You may tell him I said so. He will know the reason why.”
“Not returnin’?” She shot a look at Ilsa.
“Not returning.” Bradford clipped the words. “I’ll ask you to deliver this satchel to Kilgard. In it is thirty pounds. I trust you can be relied upon?”
“Oh yes, sir.”
“The money is compensation for her services, as Kilgard will need to hire a new seamstress. Ilsa will remain here indefinitely.”
Roberta’s head swiveled toward Bradford, then back again like some sort of stiff child’s toy. “Oy.”
“This sum will cover the salary of a replacement for one year. After that, he shall make do on his own.”
“Yes sir. I’ll tell him, sir.”
“Has he any argument, he will deliver it himself. I will not see another messenger on his behalf.”
“Yes sir. I’ll tell him, sir.”
“I will send Havers to reclaim my clothing.”
“Yes sir—”
Bradford held up a hand, silencing her.
“Miss Green, please accept the use of my coach to return safely to Whitechapel.”
Her eyes ballooned. “Oh no, sir, I couldn’t.”
“While you are traveling with large sums of my money, I prefer that you do.” He nodded a farewell. “Ilsa, I’ll leave you two to visit.”
When he’d departed Roberta dropped her shoulders and used a hand to fan her face. “My, he’s a fierce one! Though I’d put up with his gruff to sit in a room this grand just for a single day, I would.” She glanced around, marveling at the impressive drawing room.
Ilsa hoped she hadn’t looked as wide-eyed and open-mouthed on her first time here. She took Roberta’s hand and led her to a jacquard chaise. Roberta balked before allowing herself to sit upon the fine chair.
“Are you telling me the truth, love? You’re truly safe here?” Roberta had always loved to gossip, and it seemed to Ilsa she wanted to discover something sinister here.

“Truly. And I’m ever so touched by your concern. You’re my only friend, Roberta. We must find a way to keep in touch.”
Roberta still shook her head, neck quivering like a turkey’s waddle. “I couldn’t live with myself if I left here and something terrible happened to you.”
“Something terrible happened before, with Dietrich. Nothing could ever be as bad.” She glanced at their clasped hands, forcing away the chill crawling up her arms. “This job is proper and I’m treated well here. He’s an attic full of old furniture that I’m repairing.” Now she was grateful for her old work dress and sooty apron.
“Well then if you say so, then that’s good enough for me.” She peered at the double doors Bradford had departed. “He’s a stern one, but right handsome. I wouldn’t mind if he used me for his dirty deeds.”
Ilsa laughed. “Roberta! You’re a wicked one.”
“I’m also a widow a decade gone by. I may be old, but I still got me needs.”
“Perhaps I’ll ask if Mr. Stratton has a pair of knickers for you to repair.”
Roberta blushed. “Now who’s the wicked one?”
Ilsa’s humor faded quickly. “Tell me, is Dietrich angry? I hope he’s not being cruel to you.”
“Ah! I almost forgot to tell ye. Katrin had her baby. Truly, Dietrich isn’t thinking about nothin’ else.”
Ilsa experienced a flash of something she was ashamed to call jealousy. But Roberta was shaking her head again and her expression revealed the opposite of joy. “Oh, I’ll tell you, he’s not a happy man.”
“Is it not a boy?”
“It’s a boy.”
“It’s healthy, I pray!”
Roberta sat back and looked at her with intense seriousness meant to punctuate her words. “I tell you, I suspected as much, counting the months as I did.”
Ilsa’s heart thundered. Had the baby been born too soon? All Dietrich had ever wanted was a son to carry his name. As much as she hated the man, she didn’t have it in her to want to see him denied, or any poor child to find misfortune.
“It ain’t his.”

“Oh no. Are you sure?”
Roberta scowled. “When did little miss Katrin come to live with you?”
Ilsa wanted to say February, but that wasn’t right. “Last March.”
“And what month is it now?” One brow twitched up.

“September. But—”
“Come on girl, even one as daft as me can do that figurin’.” Roberta crossed her arms. “None of that matters, though. He can’t pass it off as his anyhow. It’s a quadroon.”

* * * * *

The squalling baby was driving him mad. There was more wrong with that little cockroach than its dark skin. It was unusually colicky, and he attributed it to Katrin’s declining health. She’d been sickly for months, but he’d blamed it on the pregnancy.
Dietrich fought the urge to put his hands over his ears. Even downstairs, the screeching little voice rattled the windows and made the walls vibrate.
A fine carriage stopped in front of the door and the rich gold crest sparked familiarity. It was that dandy who’d taken off with Ilsa. A surge of fury soured his gut. She better not have grown used to his luxuries, gallivanting about in his fine carriage. She was going to work twice as hard until her work was caught up…
But when the driver opened the door it was Roberta who stepped out. She smiled bashfully at the driver, her blush visible even in the fading light of dusk.
Dietrich narrowed his eyes. The driver hopped onto the bridge and snapped the reins. The carriage rolled away.
Roberta fumbled with the door latch. Clumsy fool. The baby screeched again, shattering his nerves.
“Where’s Ilsa?”
Roberta winced and closed the door gently behind herself, stalling.
“She in’t with me.”
“I can see that!”
She straightened her spine. Dietrich understood the big woman wasn’t much afraid of him, and it solidified his suspicions.
“She ain’t comin’,” Roberta said, confirming as much. “Mr. Stratton sends his compensation.”

“He what?”

She tossed a messenger’s sack onto his table. He stared at it like she’d thrown a spider at him. “He offers compensation for the salary of her replacement.” Roberta glared at him. “I trust you’ll be payin’ fer your last order of wool from that.”
He lifted the sack. It was heavy, indeed, but it hardly compensated. The stack of pound notes inside made his breath catch.
But it still wasn’t enough. He needed Ilsa back where she belonged—working her days in his shop, and working her nights in his bed with her legs splayed open.
He would have his rightful heir, if he had to beat it out of her.

* * * * *

Ilsa was still reeling when she sat down to lunch with Bradford and Frederick. Not only was she feeling increasing trepidation about Dietrich’s intentions, the visit with Bradford’s solicitor had twisted her stomach into knots. While his cottage—rather his estate—in Aberystwyth was far too grand to accept regardless, she simply could not marry Bradford if she could not provide him and Frederick what they truly needed of her. It simply wouldn’t be fair to them. Even if they wouldn’t admit now to themselves they wanted the woman Bradford chose as his wife to be spouse and lover to them both, she knew they would realize it eventually. If she couldn’t join them in their bed—together—she couldn’t stay.
And to her chagrin, things turned even worse when Bradford delivered an insistent invitation she join them on their ride in the afternoon.
“We’ve been granted a short reprieve from the rain, and the horses are restless.”
She set her soup spoon down, feeling embarrassed though she knew she had no reason to. “I do not ride.”
“Everyone rides,” Frederick said.
“I have never been on the back of a horse.”
He lifted his brows. “Truly?
Never?”

She smothered a frown. “Mr. Brudenel, do you understand why the working class is called such? I assure you it is not because they spend their time frolicking about on the back of a horse.”

Which in itself was an entirely terrifying prospect. She’d once had her foot tromped on by a horse which she’d sworn had been purposeful, and another time nearly been run over by the unconcerned driver of some nobleman’s Clarence. Horses had come to frighten her so that she took care even approaching a carriage to board.
“Enough work for the while, Ilsa,” Bradford said in a gently stern voice. He helped her out of her chair and took her by the elbow. “All ladies must learn to ride. I know a fine habit was delivered with the dresses yesterday, and I long to see you in it.”
She wrung her hands. “I’ll confess it, then. I’m afraid.”
This seemed to amuse Frederick even more. “Afraid, you? I don’t believe it.” She tossed him a frayed glance and the humor left his face. He rose and approached as well. “I suppose horses can be a trifle fearsome, but you’re one of the strongest women I know. And I think by now you’ve learned to trust Bradford.”
Ilsa looked at him. Bradford lifted his brows. “I would never let harm come to you.”
“The dapple gray, I assume,” Frederick said.

“Of course. I’ll tell Havers.”

“Never mind. I’ll go.” Frederick paused at her side and touched her elbow just below Bradford’s hand on her arm. “I promise, you’ll have a grand time.”
Her stomach was swimming by the time Ilsa met the men in the gathering area by the stable. She’d had breakfast on the lower balcony at the rear of the house one rare, sunny morning, but she’d never seen the stables up close. She understood this was a special area for members of a fox hunt to gather before the horn, with mounting blocks for the ladies and decorative planters of flowers and sculpted juniper creating a garden-like setting.
She laughed, nearly brought to tears when she saw their mounts. Frederick held the reins of a sleek black thoroughbred and a groom held the animal she supposed Bradford would ride—a large, sturdy-looking chestnut with a white blaze and four white socks. But it was the fat gray pony looking funnily out of place beside the two spectacular horses that caused her heart to swell with gratitude. She needn’t have recognized the sidesaddle to know this was her mount, for it was a sweet-looking, squat animal more suited to a child than any experienced male equestrian. It stood calmly, long pink tongue lapping in and out as it worked the bit in its mouth. It regarded her with soft, patient eyes as she approached.
“Ilsa, meet Daffodil.”
She smiled, all the tension rushing out of her. “Utterly charmed.”
He handed her a peppermint. “Hold your palm flat, like this. That way she won’t mistake one of your fingers for a carrot. There you go. You’re the best of friends already.”
Daffodil picked up the peppermint with gentle, velvety lips. The pony was short enough she could see over its withers. Frederick mounted his impossibly tall horse with ease. The beast immediately tried to leap away. He reined the animal back, causing it to rear.
“Oh my,” she said, impressed by his calm skill. He quieted the horse with a pat to the neck and walked it around them in circles. It tossed its head and snorted, eager for a gallop.
“You’ll sit here, like this,” Bradford explained. “One knee over, one knee under, and your rear leg in the stirrup. Don’t be afraid, Daffodil is an excellent tutor.”
Ilsa stroked the pony’s neck. “Be nice and there are peppermints a‘plenty in your future.”

“Ready now, up!” Bradford lifted her by the hips as though she weighed nothing. Ilsa experienced the most peculiar flutter in her stomach. He made her feel delicate and feminine, when being taller than many men usually made her feel clumsy and oafish.
Daffodil shifted under her weight and Ilsa grasped a handful of mane. Her leather gloves gave her a slippery grip on the pony’s silky hair, so she grasped for the loose reins instead. Bradford took her hand.
“Easy now, you’re doing fine.” He gathered the slack in the reins and showed her how to properly hold them.
“I don’t feel fine.” She held tight to the reins and Daffodil started walking backward. “Bradford!”
“Don’t pull so much. She thinks you’re telling her to go back.”
She released her tension, and sure enough, Daffodil stopped.
“Horses are delicate creatures. You need only to give gentle commands. A nudge from your heel, a pressure on the rein. When walking a straight line, merely a shift of your weight will urge her to alter course. Try it now, lean just a bit.”
She did, and Daffodil stepped sideways to compensate like a person might who was pushed on the shoulder.
“Let’s try a walk now, shall we? Give a nudge of your heel and a cluck of your tongue.”
Ilsa’s hands were shaking as she did. The pony ambled forward with a pleasing, rolling motion. Contrary to her fears, Ilsa did not feel as though she would fall.
Bradford walked with her to the end of the open area. “All right, now give a slight pressure with your left rein, and perhaps glance at me to shift your weight ever so slightly. That’s it, well done. In most cases, a simple glance in the direction you wish to go is all you need.”
The pony made a wide circle back toward Bradford. “Now a slight tug on both reins again, tell her ‘ho’ and lean back. Very good.”
Ilsa was grinning like a fool. She gathered the reins in one hand and patted the pony on her silky neck. “Good girl. An extra serving of oats for you tonight.” Daffodil’s ears flipped back to listen.
“We’ll take to the track around the greens. Frederick has started without us.”
Sure enough, far across the rolling green hillside, Frederick was seen cantering toward a low box hedge. The black horse soared over it gracefully, Frederick looking expert in the saddle.
“Surely you don’t expect me to do that,” she said with a nervous tremor. Truly, sitting atop the horse felt different than she imagined it would, and she liked the way Daffodil’s ears flipped around every time she spoke. Though she’d hardly walked ten steps upon the horse, the experience was so far thrilling.
“Daffodil is too old for anything like that, but in her youth she was an obedient little hunter hack. She was my young cousin’s, until Adeline grew out of her.” He swung upon his chestnut and rode over to her. The horse towered over them, but Daffodil seemed at home walking beside him.
“Now you’ve made me feel silly,” Ilsa chided him.
Three steps and the large chestnut was already well ahead of them. Bradford reined the horse back and waited for the ambling pony to catch up. “This track winds around the property. Daffodil knows the route by heart. You’ve merely to go along for the ride.”
Frederick cantered up and swung into step beside Bradford’s horse. The thoroughbred was breathing heavy and a sheen of sweat glistened on its neck. Its high energy stirred up the chestnut.
“Shall we ride fences together?” he asked Bradford. His eyes held a light of energy as well.
Just then a blackbird swooped out of a tree, spooking both horses. They tensed and whirled around, poised for flight.
“Whoa!” Frederick said, laughing.
“Pegasus, for God’s sake,” Bradford reprimanded his mount.
Ilsa gave a little shriek, but other than lifting her head, Daffodil reacted with calm.
“I’ll stay with Ilsa a few minutes longer, until she’s comfortable.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him in half-truth. “Daffodil has just proven herself a perfect nanny for the likes of me. Go on, have your fun. I’ll just continue to walk, here, at this slow pace. Slowly.”
When he hesitated, she nodded. “Go.”
Bradford and Frederick galloped off, winding and snaking around the green, always within view, urging their horses over a lovely course of obstacles. Though she’d never seen a hunting green before, Ilsa suspected this one was first-rate. Here an immense fallen tree lay just so, there a row of hedges were perfectly manicured. A solitary section of three lengths of fence, all of different heights, were painted bright red and white. Bradford guided his horse to the centermost and Frederick urged his horse over the tallest section. She could hear their excited voices, lightly challenging each other, and watched in awe as Frederick followed Bradford over a neat stone wall.
“You don’t feel left out, do you, girl? That is sport for the boys and I much prefer this ladylike gait.” A flick of the ears was rewarded with a pat to the neck. “Good girl.”
A drop of water hit her face, then another. Far in the distance, thunder rumbled. She tensed, but the pony simply flicked her ears about and kept walking. Ilsa gave a small tug on her left rein, and then another, and was quite pleased when Daffodil walked off the track toward a squat oak. The skies opened up with a gentle shower and dark spots peppered her navy blue habit just as she reached the shelter of the branches.
Frederick and Bradford trotted their horses over.
“It looks like we didn’t escape the rain after all.” He dismounted and handed the reins to Frederick, then helped her dismount. “I apologize, Ilsa.”
“I think it’s wonderful.” She breathed in deeply. “Do you know, I haven’t smelled the rain in the country since I was a child.” She’d braced her hands on his forearms when he helped her down, yet she didn’t move away.
Frederick led the horses to a low branch and looped their reins lightly, then moved behind Ilsa. “Are you cold?” He stroked her arms, pressing his body close.
“Perhaps a bit,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. He dragged a loose lock of hair from the bare skin of her neck, making her tingle.
The skies opened up, blurring the landscape with silver sheets of rain.
“Have you given thought to your decision?” Bradford asked in a low voice.
“You know you are wanted,” Frederick added.
“I do,” she whispered. Imperceptibly, they had both moved closer until she felt their bodies pressing front and back.
“And you have nothing to fear from us,” Bradford murmured, leaning to nuzzle her cheek.
Frederick’s hands slid around her middle, making her drag in a heated breath. She leaned back against his shoulders, staring up at Bradford.
Though fully clothed, in her mind she was naked, being displayed by one for the other. She closed her eyes and instantly fought the sensation of too many rough hands demanding her surrender, too-strong bodies overwhelming her from all sides. She sucked in her breath and stiffened.
“Perhaps from you I don’t,” she said, gently pulling away.
“But the fear is still there,” Bradford finished for her.
She moved a few paces, staring out at the sheeting rain. Thick drops ran through the leaves of the oak and tapped on her shoulders and the top of her hat.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It seems I am not the right woman for you after all.” The silence behind her she took for one man passing a silent message to the other. Perhaps they were formulating the way to voice the termination of this strange arrangement. She wouldn’t blame them in the least. But as hard as she tried, even as she promised herself that to return to Dietrich would make her life a hundred times worse, she could not envision herself naked in bed with the two of them without a surge of terror.
“Ilsa, do not consider it a fault you are not prepared to service two men,” Bradford said, and strangely, it was Frederick who added, “I think you’ve done a jolly good job of tolerating us so far.”
“True.” Bradford’s boots swished through the leaf litter. He stepped up behind her and gently touched her arms. “The wrong woman could cause me untold misery and bring about the ruination of my family name.”

“Oh Bradford.” She whirled around and threw her arms around his middle. “I would never harm you. Never!” A rush of tears flooded and overflowed, and she sobbed like she hadn’t since she was a little girl. Frederick cautiously edged closer and stood beside them, rubbing his hand over her back with all the tenderness of a parent soothing a colicky child.
These men were so kind and good to her. Ilsa felt worthless, ashamed she could not give them the one thing they needed of her. Bradford let her cry without paltry reassurances and she was glad, even as she knew it meant his acceptance their time was over.
“I’m sorry.” She pulled off a glove to swipe her tears away. “I know a woman’s tears are a more fearsome thing to men than battle.”
Bradford chuckled. “But you feel better now, yes?”
She nodded. “I suppose I needed that.”
“The rain is letting up,” Frederick said. “Perhaps we should take advantage of the lull.”
Bradford helped her back onto Daffodil’s back and the two men mounted up. Not another word was spoken as they walked back to the stable at an easy pace. A groom took Daffodil’s reins and Bradford helped her down. “Go to the house and get dry,” he said in a gentle voice. “We’ll see you at dinner.”
She wanted to protest. There were a hundred things she wanted to say, but nothing would come that didn’t seem like an excuse for cowardice.
She watched them depart into the cavernous mouth of the barn with despair hanging over her heart as dark and heavy as the rain clouds in the sky. On heavy feet, she trekked back to the main house alone, knowing tonight would be their final meal.







Chapter Six

 
Ilsa dressed in the emerald chiffon gown that had arrived the day before with the riding habit and several silky unmentionables. She stood in front of the mirror, soaking up the vision of her reflection. She would never again wear anything so fine, let alone call it her own.
The brown parchment envelope in her hand tarnished the sight. She moved it behind her back and a new rush of tears stung her eyes.
“Stop it, Ilsa.” It had been less than two weeks she’d been here, less than two weeks the cottage in Aberystwyth had been within her grasp. Though it had been her lifelong dream to own a cottage where she could live in peace, this one had been a very brief fantasy from which she could recover. She was strong. What was it they said? Easy come, easy go.
Besides, this was no cottage. It was an estate sitting upon nine acres of land. She did not want something so grand, just a tiny two-room hut nestled into the forest somewhere. Her dream would come true another time.
Unwelcome, her thoughts strayed to Dietrich. A shudder hit her shoulders. Had he sent for her because he needed her to finish her work? It was a legitimate reason, yet she could not escape the disquieting suspicion that with Katrin’s baby unsuitable to call his heir, he wanted to have another go at her.
She forced the thought away. I must do the right thing, regardless. She looked at the envelope in her hand and a surge of regret rocked her heart. They deserve a woman who can be what they need, in all ways.
She found Bradford and Frederick in the drawing room sipping aperitifs. A roaring fire snapped and popped in the hearth. She’d come to love this room, and understood why it was the place Bradford and Frederick occupied most. Though the furniture was fine, it possessed a slightly worn quality, comfortable and familiar, and something in the way it was arranged appealed to her. Both men rose and Bradford approached her.
“Ilsa, you look divine.” His smile turned to confusion when he saw the solicitor’s envelope in her hand.
“Mr. Williams took me by surprise today.” She turned to the hearth. “I cannot accept this bestowment.”
He grabbed her wrist before she could toss it in the fire. “Ilsa, don’t be absurd.” He took it out of her hand. “It’s a simple marriage agreement, nothing more.”
“It isn’t right for me to accept. I…my conscience won’t allow it.”
He urged her to the convenience. “You’re upset. That’s understandable. But by all means, don’t do anything rash.”
He poured a brandy and pressed the cool crystal into her hand.
Frederick resumed his seat, chuckling. “Perhaps this is her way of backing out of the marriage. I’ve heard brides sometimes shy away just like men.”
She sensed Frederick was teasing her to make her guilt seem silly. “I thought it was understood that I cannot be the wife you need.”
“And I thought it was understood you are precisely the wife I need.”
She frowned. “It isn’t right of me to accept your name in marriage when I cannot provide you—”
“An heir?” he interrupted. “We’ve been through all this.”
Frederick continued to chuckle. “Your first spat. How adorable.”
“This is a marriage of appearances to appease my father and any other gossipmongers who feel the need to wag their tongues.” When she opened her mouth he raised his voice. “I am quite content with this arrangement, and I wish you would learn to be as well.”
She pointed to the envelope Bradford clutched. “That is no cottage. It’s an estate on nine acres of land!”
“I fail to see the problem.”
“I cannot accept something so grand if I am to be…simply…your wife on paper.”
“As my wife on paper you’ll accept much more than that.”
“There you go again.” She sipped a too-large mouthful of brandy and coughed as it rolled down her throat like a rock. Lunch had been nearly seven hours ago. The spirit burned a path to her stomach and she could literally feel the vapors rising into her head.
“I think we all know the problem here,” Frederick said idly.
“I don’t deserve more than that,” Ilsa protested.
“Of course you do. And remember this—it is a marriage for appearances, therefore keeping them up is our most critical goal.”
“If it weren’t for me,” Frederick continued, “there wouldn’t be an issue.”

“These dresses, the jewelry. It’s too much.”
“Had you been raised with wealth, this would all seem very commonplace.” Bradford set the envelope on the mantle and took her by the arms. “It is because you never had these things that they are overwhelming to you, but in my eyes it is a travesty you’ve never owned a fine dress of your own.”
She managed to smile back at him. But it was precisely his kindness that made her guilt burn so hotly.
“Remember your promise.” Bradford’s voice held teasing. “No decisions until Saturday, after the wedding. And certainly no bloody burning of documents.”
She took a seat across from Frederick. “All right.” She sipped again, finding it easier to agree with the lightness of brandy in her head.
“Would you stay if I weren’t here?” Frederick eyed her.
Bradford finally acknowledged Frederick. “That’s an irrelevant question,” he said quickly. “And one I don’t want answered.”
“Well of course her answer would be yes. It is precisely her fear of ravishment at the hands of two men which causes her trepidation.”
Ilsa sipped her brandy nervously. She lowered the glass, staring into the swirling golden liquid. She didn’t like being spoken of as if she weren’t in the room.
Bradford paced away. “That isn’t the problem here.”
“It certainly is,” Frederick argued.
“Frederick is correct in that claim.” Once she lifted her eyes to his she was proud of her courage, and then just as quickly regretful. Frederick’s returned gaze wasn’t accusing or condemning. “But only half right. I am a commoner, Mr. Stratton. That is why I am uncomfortable accepting a gift such as an estate.”
“You are the daughter of a Norwegian textiles baron, as you were introduced to the Earl of Brighton and Lady Waxford,” he corrected. “And it is a cottage.”
“For heaven’s sake, can we not address the true issue?” Frederick shook his head and slugged back the bottom of his glass. He rose to pour himself another. “Ilsa, nothing about you is common, most certainly not the calm with which you accepted your future husband’s lover. What female would tolerate another man, let alone consider sharing their bed with him?”

Bradford quirked one side of his mouth. “He’s right in that, my dear.”
Her heart gave a kick. The glug-glug-glug of brandy echoed in her ears as Frederick poured from the crystal decanter.
“Sadly, what is also uncommon about you, Ilsa, is the torture you endured at the hands of those vicious men. But I’ll remind you, you survived it.”
She swallowed another too-large mouthful of brandy and nearly gagged.
Bradford turned away and continued his slow pace of the room. “I do not like the tone of this conversation,” he said into his glass.
“My point is this—the way to overcome your tragedy is to challenge it.”
“I don’t understand.” She silently cursed her weak voice.

“To do precisely that which frightens you. Get back upon the horse, and all that. Which I’ll add you did today, and you’re still alive to tell the tale.”
“Are you mad?” Bradford demanded.
“Tell me, when those men took you, did they do so at the same time?”
“Frederick!” Bradford barked.
“It is a simple question. Was there dual penetration?”
“Ilsa, do not answer that.” Bradford slammed his glass down on a marble-topped table. “Frederick, for one who claims himself wise beyond his years, you are grossly incompetent when it comes to women.”
“Perhaps that is because I prefer men,” Frederick retorted in a sarcastic tone.
“Don’t you wish to know the answer?” Ilsa’s whisper cut the room into silence. Her heart was pounding so ferociously her body shook. Both men faced her. Their silence, Bradford’s most critically, said they did.
“No, they did not take me at the same time.”
“Then perhaps you should do so with us. After all, wasn’t it you who said ‘when it is done right, it is so, so right’?”

“Eee-nufff!” Bradford growled.
Her vision narrowed and pitched.
“I merely propose Ilsa engage in an act which exceeds that which she endured at the hands of those brutes, on her own terms. Perhaps that is the only way she’ll get over her fear.”
“The mere suggestion is grotesque. Ilsa, I apologize.”
“It is not my intention to offend the lady, I simply propose a challenge. In fact, a series of challenges. Ilsa is no wilting flower.”
Bradford stalked over to Frederick and grabbed him by the lapels. Fury blazed in his eyes. “She is to be my wife and I will decide what she will and will not do. And as her husband, my single greatest purpose will be to see that no harm comes to her, not ever again. Do I make myself clear?”
They were both so focused on each other they did not see her rise. “I’ll do it.”
Both men gawked at her.
“I will do it,” she repeated.
Bradford still held Frederick by his dinner coat, but he’d relaxed the grip of his fists. Frederick pulled back and smoothed his lapels. In Bradford’s brilliant eyes she could see his argument brewing, but he appeared to be overcome by shock.
Ilsa walked to the convenience to set down her glass. Her hand shook violently, just like her stomach felt. She faced them, but hesitated before speaking. Her tongue would surely flop about uselessly if she tried.
“You see, she understands the logic.” Frederick swallowed, clearly unnerved by Bradford’s violence. “And she knows that my intention is to help, certainly not to hurt her further.”
“No.” Bradford straightened his own coat. “Ilsa, when you first came here, I told you I would never ask you to do what you cannot. I don’t intend to go back on that now.”
His heartfelt words chased away the terror lancing her heart. Ilsa went to him and touched his chest. He took her hand and wrapped it in both of his.
“Bradford, I want more than anything to be the woman you need.”
“You already are. Can’t you see that?”
“I want to do this.” She truly did. Since agreeing, the weight of her fear, the sickening shame she’d carried since the night those men violated her, seemed to be lifting away. “Frederick is correct. I need to do this.”
“Not for me.” Bradford shook his head. “You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

“No, not for you.
For me.” She smiled. “I need to or I’ll never get over it. I realize now I cannot live with this pain.”
She turned to Frederick and reached for him. He took her hand.
“Thank you, Frederick. Thank you for sharing your life with me.”
“I don’t just want you here.” He touched her face. “I want you to be happy here.”
Bradford crossed his arms. “All right, wise one. What do you propose?”
Frederick’s cheeks flooded pink. He pulled his cravat away from his Adam’s apple. “Well, er, a strict set of rules, to begin with. To assure nothing occurs that was not agreed upon beforehand.”
Ilsa went to the chaise, where she sat alone. She needed some distance in order to fathom his words. Bradford paced back to the marble-topped table by the piano and retrieved his glass. He held it up, no doubt searching for a crack.
“Today is Tuesday. Your wedding is Saturday. That leaves us four nights prior and your wedding night.”
Still no one else spoke. Frederick cleared his throat.
“As part of this agreement, if Ilsa ends this challenge before all five…tests are completed, she agrees to take the endowment and go nowhere but the estate in Aberystwyth.” Frederick eyed her. When she didn’t argue, he continued. “If she completes the tests on the night of her wedding and still decides she cannot stay with us, she agrees to go nowhere but the estate in Aberystwyth.”
Ilsa took a deep breath. “Agreed.” She made a mental promise to herself that she would complete all tasks, regardless of the discomfort she might experience doing so. She owed them that much, at the very least. There was nothing these men could do to her that was worse than what had already been done, short of going wild and tearing at her like jackals. And even if they did, at least she knew these two men and cared for them.

I care for them deeply, she realized. The understanding brought both an ache of joy, and fear of a new kind. There was much more at stake here than just her body.
They both looked to Bradford, who took a deep breath. “Agreed.”
“Each night but the last, regardless of where the test takes place, you will return to your room alone and pass the night undisturbed. None of us shall change this rule.”
She and Bradford agreed to this as well.
“Your first test will be…” Frederick stared off at a spot on the carpet, in thought. “I’ve got it. Since women are inherently bad at polishing, tonight you’ll receive instruction in the art of fellatio. One of us will instruct, and the other will receive.”
She settled into a strange euphoria. That she could do. She’d seen both men naked in a state of arousal, and both were quite beautiful.
“Have you ever had a man’s cock in your mouth?”
“Frederick, please.” Bradford seemed embarrassed by such talk, yet the gleam in his brilliant blue eyes said he had moved beyond anger into excitement.
“Frankness is a part of our relationship, therefore it will also be part of our union as three.”
“Still, there is a way to talk amongst men, and a way to speak in the presence of a lady.”
“I’m not offended by the word, Bradford.” She was pleased with herself for the courage to say so. “No, I have not had a man’s cock in my mouth.”
“Good,” Frederick sang out. “No bad habits to unlearn. Now, who shall instruct, and who shall receive? Bradford should receive, I believe, as he’s quite picky and I’ve come to learn all his particular preferences.”
“By the devil I am not picky.”
“Pardon me, but you’ve more rules and requirements than a boarding school. Besides, you are to be her husband, so she ought to know your needs best.”
Ilsa smothered a giggle. Frederick did his best to make this easy for her, and she loved him for it. She’d passed beyond terrified into giddiness, and oddly enough felt like laughing. Perhaps the brandy had something to do with it.
“Your second test shall be…second and third, one night and then the next, to make love to one of us while the other watches. The first night it shall be me, I think, to establish early on whether or not Bradford can share.”
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. That didn’t sound so bad, either.
“Each night you shall only make love to one of us. We give you our solemn vow of this, and even if you were to request more from the other, we shall refuse.”
“I agree,” she said. She felt lightheaded, prickly with joy. She should have known Bradford and Frederick would only ask what she could give. Part of her euphoria came from knowing she could give it.
“Why the devil do you get to make up these tests and their rules?” Bradford tossed a hand to show his exasperation.
Frederick shrugged. “By all means, what do you propose?”
“Oh go on, then.” He frowned. “Ilsa, you may speak up. You don’t have to agree to each of his audacious ideas.”
“So far I find them quite agreeable,” she said. “Have you a complaint?”
He’d been pacing a hole in the carpet. She was relieved to see him sit in the Queen Anne cater-corner to the chaise. “I suppose not.”
“Given Bradford’s bossy nature, I propose that on night two and night three, the watcher cannot speak or interfere.”
“Bossy nature, for all the saints,” Bradford muttered.
“Though it is the watcher who will decide the position, I think. Yes, I think that would be best. To give whoever watches a purpose in the act.”
“Agreed,” Bradford grumbled.
Ilsa nodded. “Yes, agreed.”
“Night four, I propose it is Ilsa who watches us. Similar rules apply, she cannot interfere. Do you think you can do this, Ilsa?”
Her cheeks heated. They still didn’t know she’d already spied them once, and listened purposely to the private sounds coming from their chamber nearly every night. She’d itched to peek in on them again, and the only thing that had kept her from the keyhole was respect for the beauty of their union, and perhaps a smidgeon of envy.
“Oh yes,” she said a little too breathlessly.
“Bradford, do you agree?”

“Why the bloody hell not?”

“Hmm, yes, I like this. It shall be nice to spend the night with my lover before he weds another. I suspect my fragile ego will benefit from the extra attention.”
“Frederick, remember this whole absurd idea is yours. I never intended to make you feel left out.”
“And I too apologize, Frederick. I never meant to make you feel threatened.”
Frederick had been pacing excitedly in front of them. “Ha, you two, I jest. Truly, I’m delighted to have Ilsa here. I thought you both knew. Bradford never could tell a joke.”
“Perhaps you simply aren’t funny.”
“Please, Frederick.”
The men stopped their banter and looked at her.
“Continue,” she said softly. “The final test.”
“The fifth night…”
Silence, heavy like wet velvet, was broken only by the crackling of the hearth.
“This will be the night you pass in our bed. Bradford and I will possess you at the same time. One in your ass, one in your cunt. I dare say your wedding night will be like none other.”
To hear him say it confirmed it as well as in stone. One in my ass, one in my cunt. I can do this. I will do this.
“Our wedding,” Ilsa corrected. “Truly, it will be a marriage of three.” A tremor of fear rolled from head to toe as she sanctified her intentions by speaking them aloud. Could she truly bring herself to commit the very act she feared most?

* * * * *

Ilsa did not appear for dinner, instead she took her meal in her room after a bath in which Mary washed her hair. She sat on the floor in front of the hearth and brushed it dry herself. Tonight she’d donned the white silk shift again. Bradford had liked it on her, and somehow she knew Frederick would too. Considering what she was embarking upon, it seemed appropriate to wear the alluring gown that literally served up her breasts like two frosting-covered cakes.
She’d forgotten to ask Frederick if either of them were allowed to touch her. His proposal had seemed so straightforward earlier, now her mind teemed with questions. Maybe it was the glass of wine she’d finished with the slice of chocolate cake for dessert that had mellowed her, but Ilsa felt no fear. Frederick’s rules were precisely to keep her from feeling endangered, and she knew there would be nothing done tonight that she couldn’t handle. In an odd way, it was the sweetest gift she’d ever received.
Murmurs rose from the other room. Frederick and Bradford had retired. The relaxed banter she heard, nothing but mumbles really but it was the tone she could detect, were the same as on previous nights when she’d lain awake listening to them before they retired for the evening.
Her heart picked up its pace. They were preparing for the test to come. My test.
A knock sounded on the adjoining door. She rose and entered the master suite.
Frederick was dressed in an exquisite, full attire of bedclothes and smoking jacket. Bradford wore his black silk robe, but was very obviously bare beneath. He smiled when he saw her.
“Frederick and I discussed an additional amendment to the rules of tonight’s test.”
“Oh?”
“We’ve decided that since it’s your first time,” Frederick volunteered, “you shan’t be expected to swallow.”
“Ah.”
Bradford stood in the center of the room. He glanced at the standing mirror and Ilsa knew he had positioned himself there precisely to see his reflection in the mirror. His and hers.
“Are you ready?” Frederick tossed a pillow on the floor before him.
“I am as ready as I will ever be.”
He held out his hand. “Come. Kneel down.”
She did, hitching up the skirt of her nightdress over her knees. Frederick sat on the floor beside them.
“If at any time this goes beyond your comfort, you may ask to stop, or simply to rest. That will not mean you have failed the test.”
“Ilsa, only you will judge if you succeed in each test or not,” Bradford cut in. “The fact that you attempt it is score enough for us.”

Bradford’s hands hung by his sides. She grasped one and he returned her squeeze.
“Remember that tonight is a learning experience,” Frederick told her. “You simply need to follow my instructions.”
“As women are known for being horrid at polishing?” She giggled.
“Hopefully you’ll learn to be an exception.” Frederick’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Open his robe. Bare him.”
She pulled the silk belt free and pushed the flaps of his robe open. Bradford was fully erect. Ilsa hadn’t thought tonight’s test to be particularly alluring, but now seeing him like this, her body grew warm. His organ was so beautiful. If there was a possibility she could learn to please him with her mouth, she relished the idea.
“Give me the belt.”
Frederick stood and moved behind her. He gathered her long hair into a mass and tied the silk strand around it, finishing it with a bow.
“That’s better.” He went back to his knees beside her. She tingled with apprehension, mostly afraid of embarrassing herself in front of him. “Let’s begin.”
She looked at him expectantly.
“Touch him with your hands. Lightly, fingertips first. Stroke him with your palms.”
Bradford issued a low moan of approval when she did.
“It’s beautiful.” She gazed up at him. “You’re beautiful.”
“Isn’t he though? Good girl, an extra point for saying so.”
She traced the shaft with tented fingertips, examining the texture of his skin and the vein running through the underside. She’d never looked at a man’s penis like this. The up close view fascinated her. Even without her touch, it pointed straight up, the cap stretched taut and shiny, as big as a Fairies’ Bonnet mushroom.
“Slide your finger up the length, yes, like that. The cleft there is extremely sensitive.”
Her finger followed the natural valley in the underside of the tip. Bradford dragged in a breath.
“Remember that spot later, with your tongue.”
She would. She liked the reaction it elicited from Bradford.
“Now down, with both hands. Cup his balls. Feel the way they move under his skin.”
She followed his instructions, forcing a groan out of Bradford.
“Bradford likes this especially. Keep this in mind if you ever want something. The way to Bradford’s heart is through his balls.”
“Evil…little…sprite…” he ground out through clenched teeth.
Ilsa smiled. She loved the friendly intimacy between them and delighted in being included.
“Try a squeeze. Don’t be afraid to give them a tug.”
She did both things. The skin here was like velvet and his testes felt like fragile bird eggs.

“By the saints.” His fists clenched. His cock was throbbing in time with his heartbeat. She glanced up at him, eager to taste. She would definitely pass this test tonight.
 
If she didn’t take him in her mouth soon, he would die.
“Now grasp the shaft with your hand, like you did to me.”
She did? This was a surprise. Instead of making him angry, the idea piqued him. Frederick had told him about their incident in the attic, but without the gritty details. Ilsa’s warm hand closed around him, robbing him of his next thought.
“Squeeze it firmly. Don’t be afraid. That’s right, now pull him up and down.”
Bradford hissed out an affirmation as the room began to spin.
“Too rough?” she asked, peering up at him.
“Not rough enough,” he bit out. “Ah yes, like that.”
“I told you, Bradford has powerful needs.”
“I believe—ah gad—the word you used—bloody hell—was picky.”
“No talking,” Frederick admonished teasingly. “What do you think, Ilsa? Are you ready to lick him?”
“God please!” He’d placed one hand on her head, he didn’t remember when, and his hips were thrust forward.
“Yes.” Her warm breath caressed him. Without further instruction, she lapped with her tongue, lashing the sensitive valley of nerves where the folds of flesh met on the underside of his cock. Merciful God.
“She’s a dutiful student,” Frederick said. “You should see this from my view. It’s a rather incredible sight.”
Ilsa had either heard women talking, or surmised on her own that running her tongue along the ridge of his cock head would please him. He glanced in the standing mirror. The sight made him dizzy. Ilsa looked outrageously young with her flowing hair loosely tied back, sitting on her knees and lapping at his cock.

I am an excellent judge of character indeed.
“You’ll take him in your mouth next,” Frederick instructed. “Carefully guard your teeth. Suck the tip in like you would a spoon with a mound of confection.”
When she pulled his cock into her warm, wet mouth, Bradford’s eyes rolled back in his head.
“It’s not a ladylike task. The slobber, the sucking noises, your own moans adds to his pleasure.”
She sighed on his cock, as if to affirm she heard.
“The sound of a moan creates a wonderful buzz upon the head.”
Ilsa may be innocent, but she showed no hesitation. She sucked him eagerly, clearly wanting to give pleasure.

She’s like a wounded bird, he thought. She needs to be nursed back to the glory she’s capable of, and then she’ll soar. Bradford thanked the heavens he’d found her and was provided the opportunity to do so. And later he’d offer a special thank-you to Frederick for helping him.
“Open your throat and take him deeper. Slowly now, let yourself get used to it.”
Bradford refrained from thrusting with his hips. God, she was sending him out of this world.
Ilsa sucked him down. Her head bobbed and glorious sucking sounds came from those pretty lips. He alternated between looking down and watching her in the mirror. He’d been right. The sight of her full lips stretched over his cock was a sight to behold.
On her next swallow of his cock deep into her throat, she proved she’d been paying attention by cupping his balls and giving a squeeze.
“Oh God, Ilsa I’m going to come.” He was surprised he’d held off this long.
She grabbed his shaft with the other hand and worked him up and down while firmly cupping his balls with the other.

“Ilsa!” Even as he tried to get her to stop, he couldn’t help but thrust his hips.
His blood boiled and his balls exploded, and he spurted into her mouth. A gurgle escaped her throat, but she held onto him fast, her lips sealed around the engorged head and her hand pumping him dry. His cock and her hands were soaked with her saliva and now with his cum, but she didn’t recoil.

“Oh God.
Oh Ilsa, oh God.”

“Good heavens,” Frederick said. He collapsed onto his arse.
Ilsa released him and sat back. Her lips and chin were shiny with his cum, her cheeks flushed from the exertion. Tiny wisps of hair had escaped her ponytail. She looked wildly young and alluring. When she looked up at him and grinned, he threw back his head and laughed.
“Should I have stopped?” she asked timidly.

“Only if you wanted to kill me.” Bradford staggered to the bed and collapsed on his back, arms thrown wide. He laughed again.
“I’d say you passed,” Frederick said.

With accommodations!








Chapter Seven

 
The day passed with as much ordinariness as the others, if Ilsa could consider any of them ordinary. Last night’s test had come with no apprehension. She’d not considered it particularly erotic until it had begun, so she hadn’t experienced any worry beforehand.
Today was different. True, she’d already accepted Frederick inside herself once, but somehow the idea of Bradford watching changed everything.
For one thing, she’d be completely naked. For another, she would be giving herself to Frederick, four years her junior, while her husband-to-be looked on.
But mostly, the idea of bedding one man while another stood by watching renewed the fear she’d worked so hard to tamp down.
When she’d first been tied down on that bare mattress in that dreary workshop, the two men had stood over the bed watching as the first, the oldest who seemed to be their leader, mounted her. They’d stared shamelessly, salivating like starving prisoners watching a meal being prepared. At first she’d been mortified, lying there spread open wide before the other two as the first stabbed himself in and out of her like a rutting dog. Then, when the second had climbed between her legs, she realized that watching the first had stoked him into a frenzy, and she’d learned true terror.
The idea of lying before Bradford as his lover sought release in her body brought that terror alive all over again. What if Bradford decided he was jealous? What if he simply lost the ability to resist? What if his promise, and Frederick’s rules, ceased to matter for the stronger motivation of lust? She clasped her hands together and squeezed until her knuckles hurt.
He wouldn’t. Already she knew him more intimately than she knew any other man, and had witnessed in him an integrity she’d never seen matched before.
She looked at her reflection. The day dress was exquisite and her face looked somehow different.
It was. She’d changed. She was a stronger woman now and she knew what she wanted.
She wanted this life here with them so much.
“I can do this,” she told herself. It was natural for her to be somewhat afraid. After all, this test was a step forward in the intensity of her tests. Frederick had chosen each task specifically to challenge her courage, yet in a small steps.
A knock preceded Mary. “I’m sent to fetch ye, miss. The earl has arrived.”

“Oh my.” This was a surprise. She turned back to the mirror. The dress was beautiful, but her hair was tied into a simple bun and she hadn’t explored any of the frivolous items Mary had procured for her. She had no idea how to stain her lips or add color to her cheeks properly, and feared she’d come away looking ghastly like a painted actress in a theater production.
“You look very pretty, if I’n I might say so, miss.” Mary fidgeted.
“Perhaps you could look on, and tell me if I use this properly.” Ilsa sat at her vanity and opened the small glass pot. Inside the waxy pink goo shimmered. She dabbed her pinky and smeared it on her lips. Mary showed her how to use the rabbit’s fur to add the pink powder to her cheeks. It formed bright crimson streaks.

“Oh Mary, oh no!”

“I’m not finished, miss. Ye do like this.” Smoothing with the fur side of the patch, the color blended and smoothed away until she was left with a slight tint of color that made her skin glow.
“That is much better. However did you learn to do this?”
“I told ye, Lady Constance was a frivolous type. She had more frills and baubles than any female’s got a right to, she did.” Mary stood back and surveyed her. “Nothing much we can do about yer hair now, but ye should ask Beatrice to give ye a cut. She knows all the fancy styles. Put some fluff into it.”
She bumped her hip as she stood, rattling the vanity. “Thank you, Mary.”
“Don’t be nervous. The earl is a kind one, as most of ‘em go.”
The men’s voices were heard as she approached the drawing room. Ilsa took a deep breath and entered. “Good evening. Am I interrupting?”
Bradford’s father had a thick shock of white hair. He turned, leaning on a cane, and his face warmed when he saw her.
Bradford stood. “Father, my bride, Ilsa Bergstrom.”
The earl kissed the back of her offered hand and held on to it, beaming. “So you’re the woman who’s finally got my Bradford to settle down. My, aren’t you pretty. I can see how you ensnared him, and aren’t I glad you did.”
She smiled, immediately taken by him.

“Father.” Bradford grinned.
“Come, tell me all about yourself.” He urged her to the settee. “Have your man Havers pour some champagne. This is a day to celebrate! Now, are you certain you wish to marry in that little church? My son should marry in St. Catherine’s chapel.”
“Perish the thought!” Bradford exclaimed. “Father, Ilsa doesn’t drink spirits in the middle of the day and I dare say we haven’t even had lunch yet. Furthermore, we both want a quiet, private affair here in Whiting, as we’re both so much happier here than in London.”
“Ah, I agree, the flash and dash of London is best reserved for the young. But at least there, all of the family can attend.”
“I’m quite certain Aunt Lucille will delight in the journey for the fabulous opportunity to complain.”
His father erupted in laughter and Ilsa tittered beside him, still not sure if they were being reprimanded for the wedding plans that were one step shy of running off to Gretna Green.
“I wish your mother were still alive,” the older man said, suddenly wistful. He shifted toward her on the seat. “She would have adored you, dear. Tell me, is your family expected?”
“I’m afraid I am the last of my family,” she responded. “My sister died two years ago.”
“Ilsa’s father was in textiles. A Norwegian importer. When he passed, she moved to London to be with her sister.”
“I’m so sorry, dear. The world is a big, lonely place without any family to share it with. But alas, here you two go, embarking on a new family. What joy.”
“I do hope so, your Lordship.” She smiled, already feeling like part of the family.
“I suppose Bradford has told you all about us.”
She glanced at him, not sure how to answer. Bradford wore a stoic expression. “I have. You know my motto, honesty is the best course.”
The earl turned back to her and a new understanding filled his eyes. “And what a treasure you must be, accepting it all, all the while knowing it shan’t be Bradford who inherits.”
She knew there were secretive undertones in each man’s statement. “I consider it a blessing, because his friendship and companionship are all that I want.”

“Ah, the best kind of marriage. My Elizabeth was my truest confidant, and always knew what I was thinking before I did. I miss her so. Why, sometimes I forget and begin speaking to her as if she’s still here. That is how comfortable I was with her. When I realize again she’s gone, a wound reopens in my heart.”
“Bradford has told me the most wonderful stories about her. Did she truly make the boys sit through dinner after accidentally dousing themselves with itching powder meant for their tutor?”
The earl laughed. “They wouldn’t confess their prank, but she knew very well what they had done. You should have seen them twitching and squirming about, all the while claiming nothing was amiss.”
“I see it was a mistake telling you that particular story,” Bradford cut in wryly.
“If only she were alive now, she’d be so happy. We’d just about given up hope either boy would ever marry. At thirty-three, I’ll say better late than never. Why, Nolan is thirty-nine, with no prospects in the foreseeable future.”
Ilsa cast a glance to Bradford, who simply said, “Is it any wonder?”
“I arranged two betrothals when he was younger, but Nolan managed to ruin both of them with his gambling and womanizing ways. Nowadays even the promise of a title isn’t enough to woo a family of means, given his reputation. Papas care too much about their daughters to marry them off to scoundrels. If I were a heartless old cad I’d find some brute willing to doom his daughter for the sake of a title and a pretty pound, but I don’t have it in me to condemn some young thing to such a fate. I still keep my hopes he’ll find someone on his own and true love will prevail.”
Bradford snorted.
“My father used to tell me everyone has a true love,” Ilsa said, feeling a melancholy tug to her heart. “Some of us just have to wait longer to find it. He also used to tell me the longer one had to wait for a reward, the sweeter it would taste.” She returned the soft gaze Bradford settled on her. “I know now, it’s true.”

* * * * *

It was late by the time the guests were comfortably stowed in their rooms and soft murmurs rose from the adjoining suite, telling her Bradford and Frederick had retired. Tonight she wore only the cream-colored silk wrapper as she waited at her vanity, playing with her hair. What could Beatrice do with her thin, straight locks? She ran her fingers through the curls caused by the twists of her bun. In an hour, they would be fallen flat again.
Two soft raps sounded at the door. Ilsa rose and entered the boudoir.
Frederick met her on the other side. He and Bradford had switched roles tonight, Frederick quite obviously bare beneath his robe and Bradford wearing full bed clothing under his. He sat in a deep reading chair, holding a book parted with his thumb.
“It’s late, and you’ve had a trying day.” Frederick glanced over at Bradford. “We discussed it, and if you prefer to cancel tonight’s test—”

“Not at all. I enjoyed visiting with the earl. He’s a charming fellow and I quite relish the idea of having him as family.”
“Oh good,” Frederick said, visibly relieved. He straightened his shoulders. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day. In fact the knowledge of the night to come was all that got me through that infernal chitchat.”
The idea tickled her. She supposed he was anxious to give her a second go, since the first had probably taken him by surprise. He was probably curious about so much, having had almost a week to consider what he hadn’t seen, hadn’t touched, hadn’t tasted. She swallowed, stifling a giggle. She’d had too much wine at dinner.
“You were a good sport in all that, Ilsa.” Bradford set the book on the table beside him. “My father has become a tad trifling in his old age.”
“I’ve heard it said one’s family is always more of a challenge to them than to others.”
“I suppose we can all attest to that,” he said, uncrossing his legs. His gaze held a sultry gleam, as if he were also anxious to begin.
“Well then.” Frederick fidgeted. “Shall we?” He swallowed.
Could it be he was more nervous than she? The wine had not only bolstered her confidence and made the nervousness she’d felt earlier vanish, it left her feeling bold.
She understood now both men wanted her. This could have been just a simple marriage of convenience, a paper record to satisfy all interested parties, but Bradford and Frederick had made it so much more. For the first time in her life, Ilsa felt desired.
“How would you like me?”
Frederick appeared surprised by the question. He gaped at her like a freshly caught fish.
She crossed the room to the bed, pulling open the silk tie at her waist.
“Oh, er, that’s Bradford’s choice.” He hurried over behind her.
Across the bed, Bradford’s blue eyes were darkly hooded. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, fingers tented.
“The rules, and all,” Frederick finished awkwardly.
“Yes, the rules.” One corner of Bradford’s mouth quirked in a sardonic smile.
“Missionary position, this time. I think I would like to see my lover straining atop the beautiful body of my future wife.”
Her heart seized. On her back, it would be like the night in the workshop. She swallowed the fear away.
It would not be like that night. Frederick wouldn’t make it so, Bradford wouldn’t let it be.
She pulled her wrapper off her shoulders and let it slip down her arms. She caught it in one hand and draped it over the matching chair on the far side of the bed.

“As you wish, Bradford.” She knelt upon the bed, crawled to the center and laid down.
Frederick shrugged out of his own robe while staring at her. “You are so beautiful, Ilsa.” He tossed it over hers on the chair. Already he was erect, his long shaft nearly reaching his bellybutton. “I’ve never found a woman enticing like I do you. I suspect I’ve never had the inclination to invest the effort in wooing one, and all that. I love Bradford, and everything that he is as a man, but you’ve shown me that I can desire a woman, too. I thank you for offering yourself to me without all the trials and tribulations.”
“Trials and tribulations do not appeal to me, either,” she returned softly.
He knelt on the bed and settled beside her. For a moment he looked down at her, as if deciding what he wanted to touch first.
Despite her best efforts to keep it at bay, the fear came slithering back. Her skin burned under Frederick’s heated gaze, and from the chair, Bradford stared with intense eyes.
“There’s a hardness about him I crave, a solidness that complements me.” His gaze flicked to Bradford and back. “But a softness about you beckons me, a lushness I want to lose myself in. I realize now, you complete us. With you, we have everything.”
Finally he shifted closer, his firm body coming into contact with her side. His hardness pressed against her hip and his fingers glanced across her belly, making her breath skitter. He bent his head to nuzzle her neck and Ilsa closed her eyes, letting her head fall toward Bradford. Immediately painful images flashed over her mind’s eye, and she opened them again to chase them away.
“And I do so enjoy the way you smell.” He buried his nose in her hair.
He traced his fingertips up her ribs to one breast with a barely there caress. His soft words kept her grounded in this room, kept the dark memories from flooding back.
“Bradford said something the other night,” he whispered, turning his head to kiss her collarbone while his fingers danced a path to the other breast, teasing, tickling, but still barely touching. “He said his greatest goal will be to see no harm comes to you ever again. It is my goal as well.”
“Frederick.” She breathed his name on a sigh. She wouldn’t tell him she’d been afraid of him when she first saw him. She’d learned that despite his strong physique, Frederick was fragile, and to hear it would hurt him. She wanted to protect him from harm, too.
“There’s so much I want to do with you tonight.” With you, not to you.
He angled his body over her, planting soft kisses and licks upon her chest, though still barely touching. His gentleness relaxed her and brought her desire to life. She ached to have him touch her nipples, to pinch them and suck them. She closed her eyes again, and this time his tenderness kept the wretched memories away. Created new memories that were precious and wonderful.
Finally he slid his hand over her breast and dragged his fingers together in a gentle squeeze at her nipple. Her lips parted on a whimper.
“Lick me,” she dared command. His warm, wet tongue laved over the peak and drew it into his mouth, both satisfying the ache and heightening it. She dragged in a breath and arched her back. Frederick moved to the neglected nipple, sucking it with a series of tugs that drove her to sweet madness. He stroked the mound, squeezing lightly to test its weight and resiliency. He was exploring her, learning her, and it felt exquisite to be discovered by someone who cherished what he found.
Rustling drew her eyes open. Bradford arranged his bedclothes more comfortably. His gaze met hers and his Adam’s apple rose and fell on a noisy swallow.
Frederick urged her arm over her head and a flash of fear raced over her as she remembered the pain of her stretched arms and bound wrists. But his grasp was gentle and the brush of his lips on the sensitive underside of her arm tickled.
“I want to touch every inch of you,” he whispered. “You’re so soft everywhere.”
She responded with a sigh and let her eyes drift closed again. He rose and kissed her neck, moving toward her ear.
“I want to taste you. May I?”
“Oh yes.”
His body pressed close and his erection touched her thigh.
“The day in the attic…I was afraid I’d offended you.”
“A gentle touch is never an offense.”
“I was too shy to be bold. It was my first time. My only knowledge…the talk I’ve heard.”
“Forget the talk,” she told him. “Follow your instincts.”
He raised himself over her. “I know only man love. I was afraid I didn’t have any instincts.”
She smiled. “Let’s see, shall we?”
Frederick’s tension vanished and Bradford breathed out a noisy sigh, halfway a moan.
“Do you…like it?”
“I do so much, because it feels nice, and because Bradford was the first ever to bestow it.” She urged him on by drawing one leg up and wide. “No one has ever showed me care like you two do.”
Frederick took her cue and moved between her legs. His kisses trailed down, down, down. She closed her eyes with a sigh. His next kiss was placed directly atop her mound.
 
This was torture. Exquisite, beautiful torture. Bradford tugged his trousers away from his erection, sure they were cutting off the blood supply and it would break off like a chunk of stone.
The real torture would begin when they were finished, and he had an entire day to wait before having her.
He’d asked them to use this position because he wanted to admire Frederick’s lean body. He had a particular fondness for his lover’s broad and muscular back, but the sight of Ilsa captured his attention just as thoroughly, thus befuddling him two-fold. Stretched out as she was, long and curvy, offering herself up like a wedding cake, she made his mouth water. He’d been so busy spending himself inside her he hadn’t stopped to notice how many wonderful attributes she possessed, and how truly lovely they were.
Frederick, for all his innocence with women, was smart enough to explore her delicate wonders with intense care.
He bent between her spread-wide legs. His tongue swept out to taste her, parting her feminine folds. Bradford nearly swallowed his own tongue. Thank goodness he’d tasted her himself. He hadn’t imagined it brought her so much pleasure, and his greedy indulgence had been a lucky accident that made him slightly less oafish.
Whatever talk he’d heard, Frederick must have been paying attention, and Ilsa’s increasing mewls of delight proved he was as good at orally pleasuring a woman as he was a man. She pushed her hands over her head and crushed the feather pillow into a wad.
Frederick knelt on her opposite side, providing an unobstructed view. He alternated between licks and flicks, sucks and kisses, and the occasional nibble, driving Ilsa’s passion higher and higher. When he sucked on her swollen clit, she cried out.
Her body arched and bucked in climax and her toes curled. “Oh, oh Frederick, oh!” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Oh.”
Bradford wanted to speak up, to tell Frederick he couldn’t simply mount her now, she needed time to rest and grow eager again. But Frederick only continued his intimate exploration, kissing a path down her thigh to her knee.
When Frederick had knocked on her door tonight Bradford suddenly wished he’d first taken a moment to give his young lover some pointers, having forgotten he was inexperienced with women. But Frederick showed he was neither brute nor cad, and it was Bradford who instead learned a lesson watching him. Frederick had a heightened awareness of her delicateness, and seemed to understand her need for intense gentleness not just because she was a woman, but because she was this woman. Suddenly Bradford felt entirely oafish again.
Frederick sat at the end of the bed, holding her ankle up to kiss the arch of her foot. Ilsa watched him with dreamy eyes. She giggled when he sucked on her little toes.
He picked up the other foot and squeezed her heel with one hand while he rubbed her arch with the thumb of the other.

“Mmmm. You can do that forever.” Her slow moan brought a smile from Frederick.
His traverse up her body was as slow as the journey down. Frederick had always been an intense, needful lover with him, yet with Ilsa he proved to have a patient, serene side as well. After mapping every inch of her body, kissing each rib and dipping his tongue into her bellybutton, he settled himself beside her on the bed and touched her face.
Ilsa turned her head and captured a finger with her lips, and Bradford’s heart nearly exploded. Frederick’s cock was as swollen as Bradford had ever seen it, and he’d leaked so much pre-cum a tear ran down the underside of his tip.
“Frederick, I’m ready for you.”
He shifted on top of her like the most seasoned lover of women and their bodies fitted together, blocking his view of the act to come. But Bradford knew the precise moment Frederick entered her. He didn’t just move his hips, but rotated them and drove upward, and Ilsa tipped her head back and dragged in a breath.
She let it out as Frederick hitched his body higher, driving deeper still. Bradford’s own cock burned with need. Later, Frederick would provide relief. The younger man was mischievous but never cruel, and Bradford ached in a bad way.
He began a slow rocking and Ilsa met the rhythm, uttering soft moans to reveal her pleasure. Their bodies pressed together, curled toward each other like lovers who had adored each other their entire lives. Frederick buried his face in her hair and she pressed her cheek against his neck. Ilsa drew her legs high, elegant feet pointed like a ballet dancer. She clawed at his back, leaving red marks across his muscular planes and providing an alluring show.

“Oh, Frederick, yes, yes.”

“How do you like it?”
Their whispers were now so soft he could barely hear, and their intimacy made his heart ache. He’d seen Frederick’s aversion to social occasions and knew that despite his proud excuses, he felt clumsy and odd around women. He loved to see Frederick feeling confident and eager, enjoying himself inside Ilsa.
And Ilsa, what a change he’d witnessed in her in so short a time. She’d been shy and afraid when she first came here, yet glimpses of her inner strength had shown through from the moment he’d propositioned her on the street. Now she shined, both giving herself and demanding of Frederick at the same time. When she was fully healed, she would be a passionate lover indeed. Again, Bradford thanked the stars he’d found her, for not only had he rescued this enchanting damsel in distress, she’d rescued him.
“Deep, like this,” she answered Frederick. He humped her slowly, but with powerful thrusts. “Empty yourself…as deeply inside me…as you can.”
Bradford chewed on his lower lip, knowing exactly how exquisite that felt. His breath rasped hotly and his throat was dry. This task had been both a good idea and a horrid one. He pressed a hand to his throbbing erection through the too-many layers of his bedclothes. His need was like a powerful itch and his hand only made it worse.
Frederick uttered something unintelligible and Ilsa replied with sounds of her own.
The cords in Frederick’s back flexed as he rose with each languorous thrust, finishing each stroke with a jerk of his hips. His arms bulged, each muscle exquisitely defined. His skin glowed with a sheen of sweat. Ilsa was like smooth cream, her womanly flesh rippling under each plunge of Frederick’s hips. Bradford couldn’t decide which was more beautiful to him and he realized that together, they were magnificent by tenfold. His vision blurred.
Ilsa screamed out her ecstasy, then again a second and third time, until her cries turned soundless. Frederick grunted twice, then he too fell silent.
Finally they were still, tight against each other. Ilsa’s face was pink and her hair a luxuriant, golden mess around her head.
Bradford released his cock and realized there was a sticky mess in his trousers. He would never survive until tomorrow.
She turned her head toward him, though with eyes closed, and sighed.
“Was I better this time?”
A smile touched her lips. “I think Frederick is not as innocent as he claims.”
Frederick laughed. “I think Ilsa flatters me.”
Bradford’s heart gave a kick. They were talking to him as if they felt bad he was left out of the fun. And dammit, he was feeling left out.
Ilsa opened her eyes. “Bradford, are you well? You look ill.”
“I feel as though I’ve been knocked over the head with a tree branch.”
She stared at him, then burst out laughing.
Frederick gasped. “You do realize I’m still inside you.”
“I cannot feel anything below my bellybutton.”
“I was that bad?”
“You were that good.”
He grinned. “Technically, this means we’re not finished.”
“Never mind me,” Bradford said. “While I die here in this chair.”
“Fear not, Bradford. I’ll do my best to ease your pain later.”
“You’re damn right you will.”
Frederick eased backward and fell on the bed beside her. She shifted onto her side, facing Bradford.
“Tell me, how do we compare?” Frederick asked her. “As lovers, I mean.”
Ilsa bent her arm and rested her head on her elbow. She glanced over Frederick at him. “You’re both different men, with a different touch.”
“So if we blindfolded you and one of us took you, you would know which one?”
“I think I would, yes. Each of you has a different touch, a different scent.” Her eyes twinkled. “He’s thicker, you’re longer.”
Frederick chuckled. “And I suppose he’s more skilled.”
Ilsa sat up. “You lack nothing, Frederick. Truly.” She rose from the bed and donned her wrapper. Frederick propped his head on a hand and watched her. Bradford watched them both, dying of thirst and hunger.
She flipped her hair free of her wrapper and faced them. He could tell by her expression she was searching for the right words.
“You have been wonderful to me,” she started carefully. “In fact before coming here, I had never experienced womanly pleasure from the act. You have both…given me lovely pleasure.” She smiled bashfully, conveying her thanks more directly than any words could.
“I’m glad,” Bradford croaked. He cleared his throat. “There would be no pleasure for me if there weren’t also for you.”
“Oh yes, he’s right,” Frederick hurried to say. “That’s absolutely true.”
“Good night, gentlemen.”
“Don’t bid Frederick good night,” Bradford said roughly. “His evening is just beginning.”

* * * * *

Bradford shed his clothes and wiped himself clean with a damp cloth. He retrieved the bottle of oil from the dresser chest and strode toward the bed. Frederick lay sprawled across the center, grinning like a fool.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
“Bradford, if you didn’t like the rules, you never should have agreed to them.”
“On the contrary, your idea was brilliant.” He flipped his hand. “Ilsa needs to be coddled, if you will. She’s injured. Injuries heal slowly. But when treated properly, they often heal as good as new.” He set the bottle on the small table beside the bed and straddled Frederick. “Forcing her to accept us both before she’s ready would be like forcing a lame horse to run. The injury would become permanent.”
“So you understand my plan.”
“Understand it, and agree with it.” He took himself in hand. “But it’s killing me all the same.”
Frederick sat up, placing his face inches from Bradford’s cock. “As tomorrow night it will be killing me.” He glanced at Bradford’s straining organ, then back to his eyes. “And you will be there to give me relief afterward?”
“I’ll return the favor, yes.”
Frederick smiled. “You know I’ll never hold back from you, Bradford.” He licked the tip, moaning happily at the taste. “Would you like me to suck you, or do you prefer to spend yourself in my ass?”
Bradford pushed him down by the shoulders. “I’ve been salivating over your lovely backside for the last hour. What do you think?”
Frederick turned over and rose to his hands and knees. Bradford pressed against him, hips to ass, thighs to thighs. He bent over Frederick, reaching for the bottle. After slathering his cock liberally, he used oily fingers to fondle Frederick’s crease.
“Bradford, what will she think when she watches us?”
He took his cock and pressed it to Frederick’s tight pucker. He moved the tip in a circle, further smearing the oil. A series of short, teasing nudges relaxed Frederick’s muscles and made him eager.
“I think she will witness a show unlike any she has ever seen before.” He thrust, breaching Frederick’s tight band with the widest part of himself. Frederick’s gasp nearly made him shoot his cream. He held himself there, giving Frederick time to accept him as much as to stay his own ejaculation.
“I think she will be as intrigued as we are watching her.” He leaned forward, covering Frederick’s back with his body and letting the motion slide him deep. Frederick breathed out a low moan.
“I think she will see two men who love each other absolutely.” He circled Frederick with his arms and used his lower abdominal muscles to power short, driving thrusts.
Frederick groaned with each inch until Bradford was seated deep. “Bradford, you know what I need. God…best of both worlds.”
Bradford hooked his hands under Frederick’s shoulders to give himself greater control. “All her talk of deepness…” He forced the words out on panting breaths. “Drove me out of my mind.”
“I understand her desire.” Frederick’s breath caught as Bradford gave a sharp buck deeper. “Oh God, I love the force of you.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, in truth warning Frederick his ardor tonight was powerful. He used the strength of his arms, legs and torso to thrust into Frederick’s soft center.
“Take me, Bradford. As deep as you need. I love to feel you spend in me.”
Those words sent him over the edge into beautiful oblivion. Hot streams flooded forth, wringing the tension out of him. He felt a unique possessiveness over both his lovers, having branded each with his seed. With Frederick, into a part of him no other person had ever traveled. With Ilsa, filling her womb and possibly taking root. Stealing her from that donkey’s arse of a tailor.
Coupled with these emotions, his climax was so powerful it shook his very core. He collapsed on Frederick’s warm back, blind and boneless.

I am a lucky man, indeed.








Chapter Eight

 
His Aunt Lucille arrived before lunch on Thursday. True to his conjecture, she complained bitterly about her travels and the discomfort in her bones, the weather and the unbearable condition of the roads out here in the uncivilized country.
But for all her aches and pains, she was perfectly pleasant enough otherwise and took an instant liking to Ilsa. Bradford admired the way the shrewd old widow greeted Frederick like her own grandson. She pinched his cheek and gave Bradford a wink. It wasn’t the first time he’d suspected she knew his nature better than she let on.
Thankfully, she also had a fondness for Maurice, his cook. After a leisurely lunch on the patio on this rare sunny day, they played a game of croquet and then took a ride through the property in Bradford’s canopied surrey. Aunt Lucille, as she insisted Ilsa call her, chattered on ceaselessly, sparing his wife-to-be the discomfort of having to volunteer half-true stories about herself.
In fact, both his aunt and his father accepted her with an unquestioning readiness that both surprised and pleased him. He guessed that after passing his thirty-third birthday unwed, and with a brother who had so far ruined two marriage arrangements, they would do whatever they could to see this wedding took place.
Though it was boringly pleasant, the day dragged on unbearably slowly. If the blasted sun didn’t set faster, he’d go out of his mind. He witnessed a secret whisper pass between Ilsa and Frederick that made her smile and Frederick’s ears turn pink, and it was all Bradford could do to stay the erection that would have made an embarrassing tent in his trousers.
Shortly after dinner, Frederick invented a horseback riding injury that was bothering his back and retired early, leaving Bradford alone with his father in the drawing room.
The earl was drunk on brandy, even if he wouldn’t admit it, and seemed as content as a cat in a basket of yarn. “I’ve a gift for you, Bradford.” He hoisted himself off the settee with the aid of his cane and many groaning noises.
“Father, it isn’t necessary—”
“Pshaw. Give an old man his few remaining pleasures.”
Bradford chuckled. “If I must.”
“All I ask in return is that you name your firstborn Ernickle, after my grandfather’s favorite horse.”
Egad. What a horrible name. Ilsa would faint at the mere suggestion.
“Good heavens, Bradford. Your sense of humor hasn’t improved over the years.”
He laughed with relief. “Oddly enough, you’re not the first person to tell me that as of late.”
“Oddly nothing, you never could tell a joke.” The earl settled into the chair again with the envelope and a small metal box he’d set on the mantle after lunch. “I know you’ve done quite well for yourself with the shipyard, and your investments.”
“Better than you could imagine. All I need as a wedding gift is your promise to be present at each of our children’s birthdays until they are as old as I am.”
His father burst out laughing. “Perhaps you do have a sense of humor, after all.”
“You’ll probably outlive us all.”
“Ah, dear boy, never speculate on such a thing. It might come true and then where would you be?”
“True enough.” Bradford sipped his brandy. “Still, I need no gift. I’d prefer to see you throw prudence to the wind and do something outrageous and fun. Didn’t you always want to buy a luxury sailboat and take to the sea?”
“Bah. I’m too old for that.”
“Buy yourself a crew to go with it and allow yourself to be pampered beyond all reason. And a big, flapping tricorn to wear as you shout orders like a pirate.”
The earl chuckled. “While it sounds like a fantastic idea, at my age I prefer to stay close to my family, especially now that you’ve found a delightful bride and will soon have little scamps running about. You know that I count myself as having only one son—”

“Father.”

“Now, now, allow me this moment of sentiment.” He held up his hand. “Bradford, ever since you were a sprite, you’ve had an exceptional amount of charm while your brother was a bully, and if I dare speak badly about my own flesh and blood, an incurable brat. I also don’t need to remind you that I wouldn’t be here this moment, nor would I have enjoyed my last twenty years, if it weren’t for you.”
Bradford wanted to interrupt, but he knew his father wouldn’t be convinced out of this belief.
“I’ve been thinking much lately about how I can most positively affect your future, and the future of your brother, so that things go as smoothly as possible for everyone after I am gone. I had already decided to begin doling out my assets, and your announcement to marry only solidified my choice.”
“Then all the more reason for you to spend most of it on yourself.”
His father dismissed the notion with another “Bah”. He handed over the envelope, which Bradford hesitantly accepted. “As I said, there is little I want that I don’t already have. That is the deed to the manor house in Leeds, including the racehorses, and the rights to Venta and Abigail’s.”
“The glass and carriage works?” Venta was an Italian glassworks he’d inherited from his own father, and Abigail’s was the carriage works he’d bought out of failings and renamed after his wife. The gift of both factories his father prized was enough to make Bradford’s eyes grow moist.
“Don’t worry, I’ve good men overseeing both. You’ll need to give them little thought. Send a man from Hawthorne’s to keep a close eye on the books and you’ll discourage any indiscretions.”
“It’s a very generous gift, Father.”
“I’ve arranged for your brother to receive the house in Italy and the trading company. He’ll need to show some gumption there, or he’ll lose it. I’m assuming he will, so I’ll continue his allowance, of course.”
Bradford held back the snort itching to fight its way out of him. He hadn’t needed an allowance since he was twenty. But his father was being generous and had opened his heart, so disgust was the last emotion Bradford should reveal right now.
“You’ve always been a good father.”

“Perhaps too good. If I’d been more stern, maybe he would have learned more respect.” The earl took a deep breath. “The box contains your mother’s jewelry. A few cheap pieces I’ve held for Nolan. I’d give him more if I didn’t think they’d end up with strumpets, or sold.”
Bradford opened the box. In it was a strand of pearls he knew were worth a small fortune, and matching droplet earrings. Among several beautiful pieces was a stunning emerald brooch his father had given his mother for their twentieth anniversary. He picked up her diamond wedding ring and held it to the light.
“I noticed you hadn’t given her a ring. It would please me if she wore your mother’s.”
“It will please her, too. She’s been lonely since her sister and father passed and longs for family ties. Your munificent acceptance means a great deal to her.” Bradford closed the box. “Ilsa is a…prudent woman. She hasn’t always been wealthy. I’ll give these to her over time, so as not to overwhelm her.”
“Does she know all about your frips and foibles?” His father put it politely. Does she know you like to diddle your man friend?
“She does,” he answered simply.
“She’s a lovely woman and I’m so pleased she can tolerate you.” His father grinned. “I’m happy to see she gets along well with Frederick, as well.”
“They became fast friends.”
“And he’ll continue to live here, as well?”
Bradford nodded. “He will.” He knew his father was merely curious, and didn’t find fault with the arrangement. After all these years, it wasn’t time to start now.
“Friends, family, a beautiful bride…you’re a lucky man, Bradford.” His father echoed the very thoughts he’d had the night before.
He smiled. “I truly am.”

* * * * *

“Well there you are.” Frederick set his book on his lap. “Did the old man finally fall asleep in his brandy?”
Bradford frowned. “Believe me, I’ve had one foot itching toward the door all night.” He crossed the room, noting Frederick was again adorned in full bedclothes, even his slippers. He sat on the center of the bed, reading by candlelight. “Where is Ilsa?”
“In her room, I would suppose. I saw no reason to bring her in when I didn’t know how soon you’d retire.” He grinned. “I might have mounted her, unable to rein in my ardor.”
Bradford frowned again, but this time it was tainted with a smile. “You would steal my turn?”
Frederick chuckled. “Fear not, soon we’ll all be sleeping in this bed, rutting each other to exhaustion.”
He undressed quickly. “You think so?” He’d become so enamored with her this past week, he honestly didn’t know what he’d do if she chose not to stay.
“I do. Can you not see it in her eyes?”
Bradford turned to him questioningly while working the buttons of his shirt.
“The fear is gone,” Frederick supplied.
He was right. She smiled more often now and that haunted look had left her eyes. Instead he saw laugh lines and twinkles. Bradford turned back to the mirror. Twinkles, for goodness sakes. When did he start using words like that?
Since lovely Ilsa had brought the delight of femininity into their lives. He headed to the water closet to brush his teeth. “Well, go and get her,” he said as he strode across the room. Frederick jumped off the bed wearing a wide grin and tore down the bedcovers.
When Bradford came back into the room Ilsa was sitting in the chair on the far side of the bed. Frederick sat on the edge of the bed.
“She didn’t!” Ilsa laughed and her joyful gaze slid over to him. Now he understood why words like “twinkle” were on his mind.
“Bradford doesn’t believe me either, but I swear it’s true. She fondled my thigh under the table.”
He groaned. “Frederick, not this story again.” He’d been trying to convince him Aunt Lucille had been sneaking inappropriate touches since the day they’d met.
Frederick gave him a look. “Tell me you’ve noticed how your aunt always manages to seat herself beside me. Tonight she nearly brought that mousy little cousin of hers to tears when she ordered the chit to sit across the table next to you so she could take the seat beside me.” He imitated her, pointing his finger domineeringly. “Rebecca! Youuh, sit over theayah.”
“Perhaps you like it. I did notice your chair was a bit askew, closer to hers than Ilsa’s.”
Ilsa chuckled. “You two.” Her breasts bounced deliciously and her nipples poked rigid bumps in the glossy golden fabric of the silk robe. Bradford made a mental note to order her an assortment, one in every color made.
“I suppose we all have our reasons for wanting the evening over and done with, myself most of all.” He was acting like a fresh schoolboy and it felt wonderful.
She chuckled again. “Are you certain? It is quite late and it’s been a trying day for you, Bradford.”
“I’m quite certain.” He sidled over to her and Ilsa stood to receive him. He slid his palms over the slippery fabric. “After watching you last night, I would die if I had to wait another day to feel you myself.”
“Well…” Ilsa teased. “If you’re sure.”
Frederick rose and bounced on the balls of his feet. “I have just the idea in mind to make this exciting. You do remember, I get to pick the position.”
“How could I forget your infernal rules?” He couldn’t bring himself to step away from Ilsa. He rubbed his hands over her backside, loving the way her flesh quivered under his roaming fingers. He rubbed his pelvis against her, swaying with his hips.

“Ah yes, the rules.” Her voice was light. “What would you have us do, Frederick?”
She breathed in a long, dreamy breath when he pushed her robe off her shoulders. It slipped over her body and dropped to the floor. He lifted a hand to one breast and teased the nipple. Distracted as he was, he only half heard Frederick say, “Standing up.”
Bradford gave him a look. What was he up to? “Standing up?”

“Why not? You and I take each other standing up all the time.”
“Frederick, you’re being gauche.” He didn’t know why, but it embarrassed him to hear Frederick talk about their sexual adventures with Ilsa. They still didn’t know how she would react to seeing them together. With a heavy heart, he realized these challenges might come to an abrupt halt before they ever got the chance to attempt to share her.
Frederick dropped to the floor and lay on his back. He pulled his arms out of the sleeves so they were trapped in the bodice of his nightshirt. “Standing up,” he repeated. “Over me. I’m completely restrained here, so you know I’ll not lose my willpower and break the rules by fondling either of you.”
“I don’t think this would be appropriate.” Bradford was now thoroughly worried Ilsa would bolt in fear.
“We did agree to the rules, Bradford.” She spoke softly. “You chose our position last night, shouldn’t Frederick be allowed freedom in his choice, as well?”
Bradford lifted her chin with a finger. “Truly, you don’t mind?”
“Why should I? He’s had his face between my legs, as have you. It’s not as though he hasn’t seen me intimately already.”
Bradford had his robe off in a flash. Truly, he didn’t care. He needed to bury himself inside her, everything else be damned.
“You’re a good sport, Ilsa,” Frederick said. “Adventurous. I like that.”
Bradford grinned. He had to admit, he did too.
She stepped over him and looked down. Bradford moved up behind her and slid his hands over her bare hips.
“Oh my,” Frederick said with awe. “Excellent.”
“This won’t do,” she said. “Frederick, I’m afraid I’m going to step on you.”
“The pain shall be worth it.”
“Please, can’t we move to the bed instead?”
Without waiting for his approval, she climbed onto the bed and aimed her pretty ass at Bradford. Her cunt was ruby red, like a grapefruit, and already glistening with arousal.
“Think of how much closer you’ll be.”

“Bloody brilliant idea.” Frederick maneuvered to his feet, arms still trapped in his bed shirt, and crawled onto the bed. Ilsa moved aside to let him flop down in the middle, head toward the footboard. She straddled him and gazed back at Bradford.
He was dumbstruck. “You’re serious.”
Frederick blasted an irritated sigh through his nostrils. “Bradford, stop arguing and get over here.”
“I’m not arguing.” He mounted the bed and positioned himself behind Ilsa. His apprehension climbed. Now the three of them were on the bed together, and he worried she would collapse in fear. “But I must ask again, Ilsa. You’re truly comfortable with this?”
She combed her long hair away from her back. “Well, I am a bit tender from last night. Perhaps if you used the oil it would be more comfortable.”
It wasn’t exactly what he meant, but he stumbled over himself to get to the small bottle on the bedside table. “Oh, of course, why certainly. Whatever pleases you, my dear.”
“It’s all rather wicked, don’t you think? Frederick can see everything.”
“There was much I saw last night, as well.” He slathered oil over his agonized cock. “For instance, after witnessing Frederick’s tenderness, I realize I am remiss in my ministrations. I understand there is more to making love than simply mounting you and rutting away. You need a soft touch. Had I not been stoked to near madness all day, I would be in a position to bestow lengthy tenderness as well.”
She sucked in her breath when he stroked the length of her outer lips with his oily fingers.
“No need to apologize. I’ll confess I’ve been in a state of eagerness most of the day myself.”
He slid a finger inside her. A flood of slick cream proved she told the truth.
“Perhaps I can offer a promise of extreme tenderness at a later time. You enjoyed having your feet rubbed. A bargain, if I may.” He slid his finger in and out, rubbing the slick glide of flesh guiding the path inside her body. “I skip all pretenses tonight and simply bury myself in you, and someday soon I rub your feet until you fall asleep.”
“Oooh, Bradford.” She dropped her head and arched her back, rocking to the rhythm of his finger. “It sounds as if the bargain is in my favor.”
He was nearly blind with need. “Then without further ado…” He took his cock in his hand and aimed it at her center. He gripped her hips and thrust, breaching her resistance.
“Ooh.” There was a pleased ring to her voice as his swollen tip passed inside her. Her pussy was tight, but wet and welcoming. He hesitated before pushing forward slowly and steadily. As eager as he was for release, he wanted to enjoy this as long as he could. Moving inside her felt like rubbing himself with a satin glove warmed by the sun. No, a thousand times better than that.

“Ilsa.” He slid to the hilt and held himself fast. “You are a generous lover.”
Bradford bucked with his hips, moving neither in nor out, but simply nudging. He’d needed to feel himself gloved inside her so badly that all day his every other thought was befuddled. It had gotten so bad he could hardly answer a question with any amount of intelligence. Now, finally seating himself deep in her body, the relief was like being reborn.
He drew nearly all the way out, tugging against the tight clench of muscle that trapped the engorged head of his cock. He thrust back inside her and immediately felt the growing heat of climax. He didn’t even care that he was about to embarrass himself in front of Frederick. He simply needed to satisfy the itch of longing too badly.
When he held himself fast again, trying to prolong it, Ilsa glanced over her shoulder.
“Again,” she whispered. “Harder.”
There weren’t too many “again, harders” in his immediate future, yet he obliged. As badly as he wanted climax, he wanted her to have it too. She arched her back in response and pushed her hips backward to meet him. The slickness of her juices made wonderful slurping sounds.
“Dear God,” Frederick muttered.

“Yes, Bradford, yes!” She pushed back to meet his thrusts, but he was already spurting inside her. “Don’t stop!”
She wrung him dry but he continued pounding into her until he became too flaccid to do much good. At the last thrust he could manage, he halted, breath heaving. He groaned something useless and indecipherable as he dismounted her and collapsed on the bed. She lifted her leg and flopped down beside him, and Frederick sat up.
“That was the most amazing sight I have ever beheld.” He shoved his arms through the sleeves of his shirt and fell into the chair beside the bed. His face was flushed and his pupils dilated, his pulse beating a rapid throb in his neck. “Simply amazing.”
“I am sorry my own performance was lacking.” Bradford circled her with his arms.
“Not at all,” she whispered, and it pleased him the way she leaned back into his embrace and turned her face up to press her cheek to his lips.
“I’ve never realized just how delicate women were,” Frederick said. “But you took all of him so enthusiastically. It makes me wonder…”
“What?” she asked dreamily, settling on Bradford’s pillow.

“Nothing.” Frederick smiled. “That was truly a wonderful gift for us both, Ilsa. Thank you.”

“Hmmm.
My pleasure.”

“I think the pleasure was all mine,” Bradford said again, mortified she hadn’t received her womanly climax.
“Bradford,” she said simply, and caressed his arm where it circled her.
Frederick stared at them with misty eyes. “I wish I were a painter. You two look so beautiful together. There is nothing lovelier than a person wearing the afterglow of sex.”
“How do you feel?” Bradford asked her.
“A tad sore, but it’s a nice soreness.”
“I think he means do you feel as though you passed this test?” Frederick informed her.
“Ah, yes. I forgot. It is I who must decide.” She sighed and closed her eyes. Bradford waited a heartbeat before nudging her.

“Ilsa!”

She smiled. “Hmmm? Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, I passed.”

* * * * *

The docks at dawn smelled as foul as an old whore’s cunny and the five pound notes in his pocket were burning through Dietrich’s clothes to his skin. He hated to spend a single shilling on that stupid tramp. He glanced around nervously, sure he was being followed by a pickpocket, or worse. There weren’t many out at this time of the morning and he’d purposely worn old, faded clothes. Still, he knew his natural grace carried an air of refinement here at the docks that made him a target.
That dandy Stratton sure had his nerve. Those poppy-cocks all thought they could do whatever they wanted and take whatever they wanted and nobody would ever hold them responsible. He’d like to take a whip to that fancy man just as much as he wanted to take it to Ilsa.
When he got his hands on her, Ilsa was going to regret running out on him. He’d never taken a whip to her, but now he planned to, keenly. He’d always struck her where the bruises wouldn’t show, keeping his displeasure private. It wouldn’t do to have his neighbors know how much he hated her. But now he’d make sure an offense like this never happened again. He’d nobble her face, he would. Smash her nose, maybe even a deep scar across her cheek. He’d make sure her pussy was all that ever interested a man, but none would want her for anything more than a five minute sweat.
The problem with Katrin was Ilsa’s fault, really. If she had born him a son like she was supposed to, he’d never have stuck it in that little slut. Never have been desperate enough to be fooled by her.
Ilsa would spend the rest of her life on her back, making him the son she was supposed to, or he’d see to it she died trying.
He entered the large workshop at the end of Hark Street. The Rund brothers were working in the far corner, pounding out a racket on some strange-looking frame. Joseph White, their older cousin or some sort of relation, looked up and noticed him first. He thumped Igor on the shoulder, stopping the hammering. Fagler put down his hammer next.
Joseph offered a tip of his head. “Kilgard.”
“I have business with Igor,” he said in English. He only needed one man. The fewer he had to pay the better, and one man would call less attention than these three together.
Joseph regarded him. He seemed to consider it, then crooked his head to dismiss them both. He turned to the strange apparatus they were building and went back to whacking the spike he was driving deep. There was a chain on the spike with a cuff at the end. Dietrich gave a silent snort. He knew what the apparatus was for. They were probably building it for a whorehouse, or some rich bastard with perverted needs.
He walked back to the front of the shop and stopped when he was sure they were out of earshot.
“I want to hire you for a job.”
Igor regarded him warily. “Whot kind of job?” He dragged the back of his hand under his nose.
“Ilsa has been taken by a fop. I want her back.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You mean she’s run off.”
“She was sent there, but kept against my wishes.” Dietrich gave him a look. “You know what I mean.”

“Hmph.”

“I will pay you well.”
“I just spent three months in gaol at Woolrich. I ain’t lookin’ to go back.”
Dietrich knew this meant, how much?
“I’ll pay you five pounds now and five more when we retrieve her.” On impulse he’d doubled what he intended to pay. He didn’t like the reluctance in the ogre’s expression.
Igor stayed silent.
“I need her taken to my house in Walton. No one will find her there, so no one will know you had a part in it.” He waited a heartbeat. “I’ll let you have as much of her as you want…” He glanced to the back of the shop where the others were pounding away on their bizarre machine. “And this time you don’t have to share.”
Igor’s ruddy face split into a smile.
“You can come and go as you please.” Dietrich shrugged. “I want her knapped, so you can have as much as you want, for as long as it takes.”
A wicked light gleamed in the ogre’s eye. “Let’s see the money.”
Dietrich dug the wad out of his pocket and handed it over. He felt a lurch in his gut and his anger for Ilsa tripled. No matter, Igor wouldn’t care if she was bruised or bloody.
The big man shoved the money into his overalls. He took a deep breath and grunted.
“I’ll pick you up in a hackney tomorrow, first light,” Dietrich told him.







Chapter Nine

 
The day before the wedding was nothing like the previous day. Though the wedding was to take place at the village church, the house was abuzz with excitement and Bradford found himself pulled in all directions by those tending to one preparation or another.
Despite his broken wrist, Willoughby had come to the house with his nephew who followed the master tailor’s every stern instruction with expertise as the old man leaned over his shoulder and scrutinized each stitch. It took nearly four hours but Willoughby was finally happy with Bradford’s wedding suit.
Ilsa had been absent most of the day as well, in fittings for her dress, overseeing Lady Waxford’s many preparations and receiving visitors from around the region bearing gifts. They saw each other briefly over lunch, and other than a few secret, knowing glances that passed between them, Bradford felt they might have been separated on opposite sides of a grand ballroom.
His tension was not only caused by the looming ceremony, but by his apprehension for the night’s test. He had no doubt she’d go through with the wedding tomorrow regardless of her feelings, but would she stay after the fact? What would she think seeing him together with Frederick?
He couldn’t bear it if she were repulsed. He wanted them to be a marriage of three so badly. The idea of losing her was unthinkable. By late afternoon he was glum with dread.
If she couldn’t tolerate them, she would have to leave. There was no losing Frederick. He’d long ago made a lifetime commitment to his lover and he’d never go back on it. If Ilsa left, he’d simply have to settle for madness.
Thankfully nobody kept him long after dinner. Bradford all but ran up the stairs. He found Frederick soaking in the bath and sipping a nearly empty brandy.
He glanced at Bradford, balancing the glass on the edge of the tub. “Bradford, for God’s sake, relax. Give the woman her credit due.”
Frederick’s statement only confirmed he was as nervous as Bradford.
He quickly undressed and dragged his robe over his shoulders as he strode across the room to the adjoining door. He gave a quick knock. “Ilsa, it’s Bradford. May I have a word?”
He heard a rustling from within. “Of course.”
He entered to see her set down the book she’d been reading and rise from the bed. Her attention perked and she seemed alarmed by his urgency. Her attire of full bedclothes proved she was ready for the evening to begin, tonight her turn to watch. Whether she was ready for it to finish was another question altogether.
He settled back and tried to calm his demeanor. “I’ve a small request for tonight, if I may.”
She stopped a distance away and clasped her hands together. “Of course. Name it.”
He suddenly didn’t know how to say what he needed to. “If tonight…that is, if you decide you cannot bear to watch…if we do something you cannot tolerate…please do not flee the room. Simply say ‘stop’ and we’ll cease immediately.”
Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled. “Fear not, Bradford.” She nodded, understanding his need for her to agree. “I’ll do so.”
A weight lifted off him as well.
“I’ve anticipated this will be the easiest of my tests.” She closed the distance between them. “I’m not shy.”
He took her hands when she reached out to him. “Don’t make such a claim until you’ve seen with your own eyes.”
Her gaze slipped away. “You’ve been so generous with me. It would be unforgivable if I were not the same way with you.”
“I daresay this is not quite the same.”
“Shall I join you in there?” Frederick called with a note of impatience.
“No, no. We’re coming.” Bradford gave her hand a squeeze and let her through the adjoining door.
Frederick had toweled off but was otherwise naked. He slipped into the bed and stretched out across the sheets. His cock stood tall, laying across his abdomen. “Since we got to choose the position the other took with her, does that mean Ilsa gets to choose our position tonight?”
She stopped, bringing him to a stop as well. “Oh, no, I’ve no preference.”
She was bashful tonight and Bradford feared she was putting on a brave front for his benefit.
“Truly, I don’t know what to suggest. I’ve no experience in such matters.”
Bradford turned to him. “I’ve asked Ilsa to stop us if we do anything that makes her uncomfortable.”
Ilsa released his hand and stepped closer to the bed. “Bradford, Frederick, I’m here tonight under your good graces to share in something I understand is precious to you. Honestly, I’m an intruder here—”
He touched her shoulder. “No, no.”
“My point is…” She took a deep breath. “There is nothing you can do that will offend me, because it isn’t my right to be offended. What you have together is magical. Your offering to share it with me is the most generous gift anyone has ever given me.”
Frederick stroked his long cock lazily. “What a nice thing to say.”
“If you must have a request from me…” Ilsa’s voice fell to a whisper. “Let it be that you show me that which you most want me to see.”
She couldn’t have spoken a more perfect sentiment. His heart swelled with love. Bradford decided at that moment he would not allow her to leave. If he had to beg, bribe or barter, he would keep her here.
He slipped off his robe and tossed it over the opposite chair as he strode around the bed.
“Wait.” Ilsa still stood in front of the plush chair she would watch from. She clasped her hands together, then wrung them with nervousness. Bradford’s heart wouldn’t beat until she spoke.
“I must tell you, I have already seen…that is, I witnessed something I was not supposed to.”
He searched his memory for whatever she might be referring to.
“I’m sorry, Bradford. I didn’t mean to peek. That first day Frederick returned, I only wanted to tell you I wouldn’t serve as a problem between you. But the door was closed and I heard your voices and before I could stop myself I realized the keyhole is quite large…”
Her face turned red and her eyes had the telltale shininess of tears to come.
“Blast. There is no excuse. I feel like such a villain.”
He burst out laughing. He couldn’t help himself, she sounded so earnest. It really was quite funny. Ilsa froze and stared at him as if he were daft. He rounded the bed to her again and gently took her by the arms. “Ilsa. No apologies.”
Her gaze slid to Frederick, and she did anyway. “Frederick, I’m sorry.”

“For what? Honestly, I rather like the idea. I’ve been saying all along, you’re perfect for us. This just proves it. You’ve got a naughty side and I’m quite glad.” He grinned at Bradford. “Our Ilsa is a voyeur.”
She cringed and brought her palms to her cheeks. “Oh.”
Bradford laughed again. “I’ll be honest too and confess I placed you in this room because of its convenience to my own. I have no one to blame but myself. I knew the keyhole is large enough to fit a cup of tea through.”
She finally seemed appeased. She glanced down, only to see his naked cock rising like a lance. “I was not offended then, nor will I be offended now.”

Tickled. That was another word Ilsa had brought into his life. He felt positively tickled inside.
“Do you hear that Bradford? Get over here before I die of want.”
She smiled. “I’ll not give reason for further delay.” Ilsa sat in the chair, toed off her slippers and brought her feet up beneath herself.
Frederick rose to his knees as Bradford circled to his side of the bed once more. He knelt on the mattress and eased into Frederick’s embrace. Their cocks brushed together, equally tall in their eagerness. Strong hands gripped his arms and he fell into Frederick’s kiss, tasting the familiar flavor of his lover with grand relief.
He closed his eyes to the sound of Ilsa’s deep breath.
 
From the first instant, their passionate love was evident.
Dark-haired Bradford, with his eyes closed and long lashes fanned over his cheekbones, was the most handsome creature she’d ever laid eyes upon. He opened his mouth and met Frederick’s equally wanton kiss with his tongue. He was so beautiful, and watching him kiss was amazing.
Heat rushed through her. She wished he would kiss her like that. She dashed away a surge of regret. Neither of them had ever kissed her.
But they would. Someday, she could be a part of this. She tingled at the thought of tomorrow; her wedding and her wedding night, in which she would take them both inside her body at the same time.

One in my ass and one in my pussy, she recalled in Frederick’s words. A thrill of excitement raced through her.
If she could stay—and she wanted to with all her heart—someday there would be love just as strong between them all. Someday, they would kiss her like that.
Her stomach flip-flopped. Fucking them both would not be easy and would probably bring pain. Can I endure it, for this? Heavens, she hoped so. The alternative was loneliness. Ilsa suddenly understood loneliness was a death sentence. To share her life with these two men was to live.
And if there was pain, it would not be accompanied by horror. It would simply be her body stretched to the very limit by these two wonderful men who treated her like a princess. They’d given her so much. She would give them herself in return and she would pass that challenge, just as she had passed the others, just as she would pass this one tonight. A thrill of excitement zinged through her at the thought.
Bradford slid his hands around Frederick’s back and Frederick placed his even lower, grabbing Bradford’s muscled ass. A low sound came from Bradford. They eased apart, breaking their kiss. They stared into each other’s eyes as Frederick reached down and grasped Bradford’s cock. He dragged his squeezing fist up and down. Bradford took hold of Frederick’s cock and returned the touch.
They looked so incredible together, both men cut with muscle the firelight played shadows and highlights across. Frederick was the smaller, and beside Bradford, his youth was pronounced just as Bradford’s regal maturity was exemplified.
Frederick eased to the left and lay down, a silent cue to which Bradford responded. He settled on the mattress and lay beside Frederick in the opposite direction.
Ilsa’s heart leapt. She sat higher in the chair to see them better.
Bradford rose onto his elbow and bent over Frederick’s hips. With a hand he guided Frederick’s cock to his mouth and licked the tip. Frederick bent his head between Bradford’s parted thighs and sucked the engorged head into his mouth, pumping Bradford’s shaft with his hand.
It looked rather rough to Ilsa, but Bradford groaned and swallowed Frederick’s length with inspired hunger. Frederick’s cock was longer than his own, but Bradford was able to take him deep into his throat.
She thought back to her lesson three nights ago and a twinge of embarrassment accompanied her realization she was woefully inadequate at the art of fellatio. Bradford’s ejaculate hadn’t tasted at all bad, and she vowed to do better next time. She would become an expert.
Both men moved against each other as their ecstasy built. Slurping sounds arose from both men’s mouths that made tingles rush across her skin.
There was nothing emasculating about their act. If anything, Bradford and Frederick appeared more manly in their confidence and unabashed love for each other. The taut muscles in Bradford’s side flexed and bulged and Frederick’s back was a lean network of straining muscle and tendon.
Bradford leaned back. “Frederick, stop. I want to come inside you.”
Ilsa’s breath was tight and the confirmation she would get to see them fuck made her giddy.
Frederick stopped sucking and lay his head down on the mattress, though he continued to stroke Bradford lightly and squeeze his balls. His cock glistened with Frederick’s saliva.
Bradford pushed Frederick flat to the mattress and rose over him. He braced himself on his elbows and was able to use both hands on Frederick, squeezing and pumping while he sucked the length of his now-purpled cock deeply in and out.
Ilsa could see Frederick’s nearing climax in the way the cords tightened in his hips and the way he tossed his head back and forth. He uttered an oath halfway between a grunt and a word, gripping fistfuls of bed linen. Bradford slowed but seemed to intensify his sucking until Frederick let out an agonized cry. Finally both men went still, their bodies relaxed.
Bradford had swallowed Frederick’s pleasure, not even spilling a drop. He released him, circling the tip once with his tongue.
“How do you want me?” Frederick asked him.
Bradford glanced at her. “Ilsa?”

“Like you did before.” She was so breathless she was surprised she could speak. “Mount him from behind.” Her cheeks burned at the daring words. She wanted to see everything she missed through her narrow keyhole portal, in vivid and up-close detail.
“Onto your knees,” he instructed Frederick.
The younger man rolled over and drew his legs beneath himself.
“Shift a bit,” Bradford told him. “So Ilsa can see.”
Frederick angled his body slightly so she was looking at his ass, cheeks spread wide, cock and balls dangling between his opened thighs. His impossibly tiny arsehole was puckered and pink.
“Is this how you will take me?” she asked.
Bradford’s eyes were dark with lust. “You’ll be between us. I’ll be in front, and Frederick will be behind you like this. But tomorrow will be much different. We will both move slowly and gently, and once we’ve penetrated you, only you will move.”
She settled back into the chair, lightheaded. “Oh.”
Ilsa swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She was not afraid. Instead, she was eager to place her smooth body between their masculine ones and become part of this beauty.
“I’m used to it.” Frederick leaned forward to retrieve the bottle of oil from the bedside table and handed it to Bradford. “I crave his strength and power captivating me. Just like you, when you begged for me to fuck you harder. But I wager no woman does so on her first time.”
“No, you’re right.”
Bradford poured a stream of oil into his hand and spread it liberally between Frederick’s cheeks. Frederick sighed at the touch. He glanced over his shoulder. “The pleasure from this act is a learned sensation, and one you must grow accustomed to.”
“And one that is reserved for special occasions,” Bradford added.
“Had you ever…” Ilsa stopped, afraid she’d nearly asked an inappropriate question. If either of them had previous lovers, it might be a tender subject.
Bradford looked at her. “Were we each other’s first lover?”
She blushed again and merely nodded.
He had his cock in hand and was sliding the tip up and down through Frederick’s oiled crease.
“Frederick was a virgin when I met him. I was not.”
Her heart was hammering at these daring questions. “I suppose we have something in common, then.” She gave a nervous laugh.
“And I’m so glad you were both my first lovers, each in your own way,” Frederick breathed out. He began rocking his hips in time with Bradford’s touches.
“Does it hurt?” she dared ask. She had to know. It had looked so violent before.
“Sometimes rough is good.” Frederick kept his eyes closed. “Sometimes soft is better. I’m sure you know what I mean.”
She swallowed. “Yes.” Two weeks ago, she never could have admitted such a thing. Two weeks ago, she never would have believed such a thing.
Frederick moaned. “The preparation is so important.” His words were spoken over breathy sighs. “He stimulates me until I crave to be filled. Tomorrow I’ll do the same to you.”
“I think I will like that,” she whispered.
“Bradford is an excellent lover.” Frederick rocked his body backward as if trying to urge Bradford inside him. “He knows just how to touch me until I want to beg for him. And then he continues, until I do beg.”
“Do you ever…switch roles?”
“We do,” Bradford answered immediately. “Because the relationship is not complete unless it is equal.”
“But this is the way we both prefer it.” Frederick hung his head. “Bradford, I’m ready. Please, take me.”
Bradford continued to swirl his cock around Frederick’s puckered hole. With the other hand, he stroked his young lover’s back.
“Please, Bradford. Now.”
He gripped Frederick’s hips and drove forward. A low gasp escaped Frederick. “Ah, God.”
She watched them with awe as Bradford began a slow humping and Frederick responded with a slow rocking. They moved together with such attuned intimacy. Bradford’s body was a tightly wound mass of muscle and Frederick appeared helpless to his plunder as Bradford held him by the hips. Fucking a man was different than fucking a woman, she realized, as he didn’t at once fill Frederick with all of himself, but instead slowly nudged deeper and deeper until Frederick was fully penetrated. Once finally buried to the hilt, Bradford held fast inside Frederick, letting the younger man grow accustomed to the intrusion as he also appeared to languish in it.
He withdrew to half-mast slowly and with a sharp buck of his hips, drove forcefully back inside. Frederick uttered a sound of affirmation, not a word or a sigh or a cry, but a mixture of all three. They began a rhythm like this—a slow, easy withdrawal followed by a powerful thrust.
Emotions assaulted her from all sides. She hadn’t imagined Bradford could be any more handsome in her eyes, but watching him captivate Frederick so powerfully and absolutely turned him into a roguish conqueror. Sometimes proud and cocky, beneath Bradford’s demands Frederick appeared humbled in his submission and she admired him all the more for it.
Frederick’s body shook under each thrust and smacking sounds rose as flesh slapped against flesh.
“Oh God, fuck me, Bradford. Yes! Fuck me.”
Bradford responded with an oath. He gripped Frederick’s hips and slammed in and out of his body. He signaled his release with a shout and Frederick groaned as his body was filled with Bradford’s cum.
Their chests heaved and each man’s skin glowed with sweat.
Bradford withdrew slowly. She watched, awestruck, as his long, thick cock emerged, still hard. Had Frederick really fit all of him into his ass? Tomorrow, would she?
Frederick breathed out a groan as he was vacated and collapsed onto his side. Bradford held himself over Frederick on all fours and kissed him tenderly. Frederick looked as weak and helpless as a baby, but he smiled when Bradford eased away.
“That was amazing. Who knew it was such fun to be watched?”
Bradford laughed and glanced at her. His expression immediately turned to concern. “Ilsa?”
Her eyes stung and tears spilled over.
“Ilsa, are you all right?”
“I am perfectly all right.” She turned and walked to the door, hesitating to look back at them. “You are so beautiful together. I…I envy what you have. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

* * * * *

Saturday morning the rainclouds parted and sunshine gleamed off the freshly washed landscape. The stone church glowed in a glistening meadow dotted with late summer flowers. Ilsa’s gown was demure for a wedding dress, yet the copper satin and crinoline confection was still the prettiest thing she’d ever seen.
Lady Waxford stood beside her before the mirror in the small preparation room adjacent to the chapel. A passel of maids from the earl’s manor attended to the smallest details with fretful care.
“You’re beautiful, Mrs. Stratton.” The older woman’s eyes misted.

Mrs. Stratton. Ilsa smiled at her reflection. She had better get used to that form of address. Bradford’s wife.
A knock sounded on the door. One of the maids clucked a scolding at Frederick, but stood back to allow him entry.
“Ilsa, you’re lovely.” He strode over and kissed her cheek. “A gift Bradford wanted you to have before the ceremony.” He handed her a velvet-covered box. She caught her breath, but Frederick only gave a wink and hastened away.
Inside was an extravagant string of gray pearls and two drop earrings. “Oh my heavens.”
“Goodness. They’re exquisite,” Lady Waxford exclaimed.
A folded note accompanied the jewels.

My dearest bride, these pearls belonged to my mother. It would please me if you would wear them, so that she may be with us in spirit on this special day. Your loving groom, Bradford.

She adorned the earrings and let Lady Waxford affix the necklace. “What a special gift.”
“He’s a special man.”
“No crying now. You’ll make your eyes all red and puffy.” She handed Ilsa a kerchief.
The earl walked her down the aisle where Bradford and Frederick waited at the pulpit. The pastor’s wife attended as her lady-in-waiting. She stood beside Bradford and faced the pastor.
“Thank you, Bradford,” she whispered. “They’re beautiful.”
He smiled down at her. “I didn’t even notice them.”
Thankfully the ceremony was short. When the pastor concluded the rite, he bid them to kiss to sanctify their union. Bradford placed a chaste kiss upon her lips.
The room seemed to spin. She was married! It hardly seemed real that this wonderful man was her husband.
Ilsa smiled at the first guests in the long visiting line of attendees, but her smile was for herself as she thought of the nights to come. She would spend the rest of her life warming Bradford’s bed, entertaining him and Frederick as much as they entertained her. Her life felt so perfect, and she couldn’t believe she had resisted joining with them at first. At this moment, she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do.
The visiting line stretched all the way to the front of the church. They were congratulated, hugged and kissed and bestowed with a mountain of good wishes.
“Tonight is a special night,” Bradford said privately. “I hardly believe it’s finally arrived.”
“Nor do I,” she said mischievously.
“Are you up to it?” He nodded and thanked a neighbor.
“Anxiously so,” she answered, and received a kiss on the cheek from the wife of a farmer who worked the shire on Bradford’s property. She noted his smile grew as he accepted another handshake.
Finally the long line ended with Lord and Lady Waxford, and the church pastor and his wife.
“Where are you two off to celebrate your nuptials?” the pastor’s wife asked.
“To Aberystwyth, to a cottage Bradford owns there,” Ilsa told her.

“How lovely.” The woman beamed.
“But I must find the water closet first. Would you please show me the way?”
The woman led her through the back of the church and pointed to the small outbuilding across a small open area where Bradford’s carriage and two horses were tethered. “I’m afraid it’s not elegant. If you prefer, I can find you a chamber pot.”
Ilsa smiled. The woman had no idea just how inelegant she was used to.
“My need is rather pressing. This will do.” She hurried to the small building and immediately wished she’d brought a candle. It mattered not. She was about to burst. Thankfully, though dark and probably home to many spiders, it was clean and without odor. Relief had never felt so good. If she waited too long, she usually ended up with cramps and a slight burning sensation for a few days.
Come to think of it, she hadn’t experienced cramps in a very long time. She usually got them every month… When was the last time she’d menstruated? Ilsa did a quick calculation. July 26th she’d had to hurry home from the full moon harvest fair and that had been over six weeks ago.
She giggled and covered her mouth with her gloved hand. She could usually draw a calendar by her female time every twenty-eight days. Sometimes it came early, but it never came late.
Could it be…?
Since Katrin’s arrival eight months ago, Dietrich hadn’t touched her, so if she were breeding, it could only be Bradford’s. She giggled again. Bradford’s, or Frederick’s. No, it was most certainly Bradford’s, given their frequent activities on her first days at Stratton house. Either way, what joy of joys! All of her dreams were coming true.
What a wonderful wedding gift she could give back to him. It was still too soon to tell, so she probably shouldn’t say anything yet, but this would be hard to keep a secret. They would wonder why she was perpetually grinning.
She arranged her clothing and ran from the outbuilding, only to stop short. Her stomach swooped as her mind refused to acknowledge the man standing before her.

“Foolish woman. You’re not worth the trouble you cause.” Dietrich glared at her with pure hatred.
Ilsa sucked in a breath to scream. A solid figure impacted her from behind and clamped a hand over mouth. A thick arm circled her middle, yanking her off her feet.
A long ago but horrifyingly familiar stench sent her world wheeling off kilter.

No, not again!








Chapter Ten

 
“We’ll be in Aberystwyth for a week, possibly two.” Bradford closed the carriage door and his father peered out through the open window.
“Take three, dear boy. Take a month, if you need it. It’s your honeymoon. Nothing is so pressing it can’t wait.”
Bradford laughed. “Perhaps I will.” He stepped back and waved as the carriage rolled away.
Frederick gave him a hearty smack on the shoulder. “Congratulations, old boy. You’re married.”
“That I am. Where has my bride gone off to?”

“The water closet.” Frederick chuckled. “You know women and their needs. My sister has to stop four times on the ride from our summer home to London.”
“Well let’s go collect her. I feel as though I’ve waited my whole life for tonight to arrive.”
Frederick laughed as they walked back to the church. “I know you’re anxious, but if my sister is any indication, women don’t like to be rushed in such matters.”
The church was now vacant. They passed through the anterooms in the back and out the back door. An empty courtyard greeted them.
Bradford was struck numb. “Where the blazes is my carriage?”
A moan called their attention to a wooden trough behind the tethered horses. Buckles rose to his feet, holding his head. Blood seeped between his fingers. They ran across the lot and caught him before he fell.

“Bloody hell!”

“What happened, man?”
“They took Ilsa,” he managed.
Bradford’s heart seized. “Who has?”
Buckles brought his hand away and swayed at the sight of his own blood. “Two of ‘em, at least. They pulled a trick ‘n drop on me. An old man…and I got a quick look at the burly one ‘cocked me from behind.”
“Kilgard,” Bradford growled.
“The old tailor?” Frederick asked, aghast. “What could he possibly want with Ilsa?”
Bradford kept his suspicions quiet. After listening to the old man’s venomous viciousness toward Ilsa, he would wager it wasn’t good.
“What’s happened?” The pastor hurried over. “Shall I send for the doctor?”
“Not for me,” Buckles said, pulling his ruined top hat back onto his head. “Takes more than a little knock to bring me down.”
“Buckles, can you ride?”
He narrowed his eyes and patted the scabbard at his hip. “I can do much more than ride, sir.”

* * * * *

“I can hardly believe it,” Dietrich hissed in Norwegian. “He married you. How did you manage that? You find some nasty business on him?”
She glared in response. She wouldn’t have answered even if she wasn’t wearing a filthy cloth gag. Had her feet and hands not been bound, she would have jumped from the carriage.
“You heard about Katrin’s babe.” His gaze narrowed accusingly. “Did you know before? You were all laughing at me. You, Katrin, Roberta and those bitch midwives. I was the idiot of your joke, wasn’t I?”
She mumbled an answer.
“What?” He leaned across the carriage and yanked off her gag, scratching her cheek.
“You’re no joke. You’ve got me pregnant.”
He eased back into his seat and looked her over. “Eh? You don’t look it.”
His expression never lost its severity, yet she could see the hope bristling in him. She would do anything to stay his violence, if only to protect Bradford’s baby. Please, oh please, if I indeed carry it.
She did a quick mental calculation. The last time he’d used her…was it March, just after Katrin had come, or April?
The carriage veered sharply to the left and Ilsa’s heart lurched again. If they only stayed on the main road to London, Bradford and Frederick were sure to catch up. They would realize she was gone any minute…
But Dietrich obviously had other plans. Oh Bradford, please, find me!
“I’m almost five months along. It doesn’t show much yet, but the months without blood prove it.”
He made a
hmph noise, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
The carriage wound through a twisting narrow road overgrown with thicket before drawing to a stop at a dilapidated manor house lost in the damp shadows of overgrown trees. Window shutters hung askew and the front door stood halfway open, jammed that way by leaves and branches. Tree litter and wildly overgrown vines made a moldy carpet that soured in her nostrils like brine. Cracked plaster exposed the wood and wattle beneath. This had once been a grand cottage, but no one had lived here for many years.
“Out,” Dietrich ordered.
“I can’t walk with my feet bound.”
He grumbled and yanked her feet up to fumble with the knot. The carriage door opened from outside. It was indeed the burly man from that horrible night. Panic clawed its way into her throat and choked her.

Stay calm. You’re smarter than both of them put together. There is a way out of this. Bradford will come.
“He’ll kill you, you know. If for nothing more than stealing his horses.”
“Shut up.” Dietrich slapped her. “His horses is all he’ll want back when I’m finished with you.” He grabbed her arm and shoved her into the burly man’s grip.
“’Allo love.” He smiled a rotted grin. “Missed ye.” He dragged her from the carriage and through the weeds to the house.
She pounded on his arm. “Unhand me, you troglodyte.” It was like striking a tree. Her stomach twisted as she saw he’d only grown more burly in the year since he’d violated her. She could not bear it again. She would rather die.
“Careful with her,” Dietrich barked. “She says she’s breeding.”
The man stopped and turned back to him. His fingers dug painfully into the soft underside of her arm. “I still get her, don’t I? You said I could have as much as I want.”
Ilsa shuddered. Her gorge started to rise.
“Did you deal with the other one yet?”


The other one?
Ilsa held her breath. The ogre hauled her around and dragged her forward. She heard the wails of a baby from within the house. Katrin.
“I ain’t done nothin’ with her, and I ain’t drownin’ no brat, neither. Killin’s a crime. Fuckin’ isn’t.”
Ilsa gasped and stumbled on the mossy stone steps leading up the door. The man dragged her along, heedless. Once inside the dark house, Ilsa strained to see through the shadows. The baby’s cries came from somewhere deeper, in what sounded like the first floor. Dietrich trailed behind. He hissed a vicious curse when he heard the baby crying.
“Take her upstairs and tie her up.” Dietrich pointed as he headed for a doorway leading into the rear of the house. “Do what you want.”
Strangely, her fear had shifted more for Katrin and the child than for herself. “Dietrich, no, what are you going to do? Dietrich! Don’t hurt her!”

“Quiet, you.” The younger man wrenched her around and gave her a shake hard enough to rattle her bones. “I been waiting for this. I’m gonna sink my teeth into yer juicy tits.”

* * * * *

Bradford reined his horse to a stop. Frederick, galloping beside him, had to turn his mount around.
“Bradford, what are you doing?”
Buckles came up from behind on the pastor’s slower nag.
Bradford surveyed the ground. “They’ve gone this way. Look, the tracks turn here.” Thank God for the recent rains leaving deep mud, and his Brougham’s discernable wider rear wheels.
“We’re two miles from London. Why would he turn off now?”
“Perhaps he’s not headed to London.”
“There’s naught up this way but the old Glenmoor estate,” Buckles said. “Nothing but a shell of a house.”
“We have to look,” Bradford insisted. “My carriage turned here.”
“He’s right,” Frederick agreed. “We can’t risk passing her over. Whatever he’s taken Ilsa for, it is most certainly dastardly.”
They charged their tired mounts up the overgrown drive. Around a bend and over a small rise, the house came into view at the end of a long meadow. The Brougham stood unattended, his horses sweating and agitated.
Bradford leapt off his horse and ran for the door. From inside, he heard Ilsa’s scream. There came an agonized grunt and she screamed again. Her shrills came in repetition, like the cries of someone engaged in rough sex.

“God, no.” He drew his sword as he ran to the front door.

* * * * *

The burly man hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, hands clasped at his balls. Ilsa’s toe throbbed and her ankle had twisted with a spike of pain, but her kick landed precisely on target. The satisfaction felt exquisite.
She whirled and ran, but he managed to grab her ankle. She fell, landing on her hands and knees across the bottom steps of the stone staircase. He was dragging her back and she knew he would rape her right here on the dirty floor if she didn’t get away.
She grabbed a rod in the wrought iron banister. Now anchored, she glanced over her shoulder and aimed her second kick. The spooled heel of her fancy shoe connected with his forehead, creating a gash that instantly bled. He released her, but the next instant grappled a better grip on her ankle.
The banister rod snapped free, rusted at the points where it had been welded to the base and handrail. She twisted around and clubbed him with it. The ogre opened his mouth in a silent cry and his eyes rolled back in his head. She brought the bar down again, smashing his nose. The effort brought an animalistic cry from her. She struggled to her knees and then her feet, all the while swinging the bar like a madwoman. The seams of her sleeves ripped from her bodice and the elegant twist in her hair shook loose. She kicked and felt the toe of her shoe digging between his ribs.

Kick. Strike. Kick. Strike. She’d never felt such triumph. She screamed with each effort, warrior cries burning in her throat.
Strong arms grabbed her from behind. No, not another one—

“Ilsa!”

Bradford spun her around and gathered her close. She dropped the iron bar. It clattered across the once fine marble floor.

“Oh Bradford!” She fell into his arms. He pulled her tight against his body and seized her mouth. His lips urged hers open and their tongues tangled. She kissed him back madly, loving the taste of him. They moved hotly against each other, stoked by their near tragedy. Bradford drove his hand into her now-loose hair. His kiss slowed, but deepened.
Dimly she became aware of Frederick, running past, and another man—Buckles?— trailing after him.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Intense pleasure overrode her fear and she couldn’t stop her smile.
“I’m sorry it took me so long.”
“I meant the kiss.”
He smiled back. “So did I.”
The wail of a baby rose from deep in the house. “Katrin!”
Buckles stood over the burly man, sword tip to the throat.
“If he moves,” Bradford said with a deadly tone, “kill him.” He stalked through the door toward the sounds of scuffling and Ilsa trotted after him. Behind his burly frame, she felt safe. Dietrich and his ugly friends could never hurt her again.
They found Frederick in a tense stance with fists clenched. Dietrich was sprawled on the floor holding a hand to his bloodied nose.
Frederick tipped his head. “The girl’s over there,” he said over the shrill cries of the baby. “Ilsa. Don’t look.”
His warning only sent her there faster.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Dietrich called after them. “She grabbed for my knife…it wasn’t my fault.”
“Dear God!” Katrin lay on the floor behind an old chaise in the grimy drawing room.
Bradford seized her arm. “Ilsa, don’t touch it. She’ll bleed out.”
Dietrich’s knife was stuck deep in her chest. She was alive, but only barely so, her eyes glassy and her lips blue. A furniture belt, the kind used to fasten heavy items under repair, was fixed tightly around her wrists. Ilsa and Bradford knelt beside her and Ilsa pried the belt loose. As though awakened by the touch, Katrin sucked in a breath that rattled with blood when she exhaled.
“Can’t we do anything for her?” The girl’s face blurred behind the tears welling in Ilsa’s eyes. She looked up, but Bradford only shook his head.
“My baby…” Katrin reached for her. “He’s going to drown it.”
Ilsa grasped her hand and brought it to her heart. “Katrin, don’t worry. You’re going to be all right.”
“His name…Bryan…” Her next breath seemed final. “Take care of him…please, Ilsa. There’s no one else.”
Ilsa sobbed and nodded, unable to speak.
“He will be raised with privilege,” Bradford promised her.
“Blackjack…Duke Pendleton’s…” Katrin’s sighed words were her last. Her eyes went vacant.
Ilsa bent her head and cried.
Bradford closed Katrin’s lids. He moved away and moments later came back with the swaddled child. It stopped crying, but squirmed and made perturbed squeaking noises, no doubt hoping for its mother. “One of the maids at Stratton House has just given birth. Perhaps she can nurse it.”
He eased it into her arms. Ilsa looked down at the tiny creature. It was as Roberta had said, dark of skin and hair, but a handsome child with Katrin’s deep blue eyes.
“Not what you’d hoped for our wedding night,” she whispered.
“On the contrary, the image of you whacking away at that cretin will keep me smiling into my old age.”
He was smiling now, and Ilsa tearfully matched it. “I was owed my due.”

* * * * *

It seemed days later she was finally eased into a warm tub, but in fact it was only three hours since the wedding had concluded. A magistrate and two officers had arrived at the old house, having been stopped in the road on their way back to London by the frantic pastor, and Dietrich and his accomplice were taken away. Buckles drove the carriage back to Stratton house while Fredrick rode back to the church, leading Bradford’s mount and the pastor’s nag.
Only now, when calm and safe in her bath with Bradford kneeling beside the tub, did she realize Katrin had named her baby’s rightful father before she died.
“She had an old lace napkin with a monogrammed ‘P’ stenciled upon one corner. She must have worked for Duke Pendleton. She may have fled, or been dismissed, when she learned she was pregnant. We must find this Blackjack and tell him of his son.”
Bradford smoothed a loose lock of hair away from her temple. “We will. Don’t worry.”
“You’re a good man, Mr. Stratton.”
“And you are a good woman, Mrs. Stratton.”
She smiled and lifted a wet hand to grasp his. The rough iron bar had torn through her gloves, but her abraded skin wasn’t as badly injured as she’d first thought. The bath had cleaned the rust away and pruned her fingers. “I’m wrinkled.”
“Someday we shall both be.” He bent over the tub and kissed her. She closed her eyes and lost herself in it. Her insides melted as she realized he had turned his head, opened his mouth, and delved into hers with his tongue just as she’d seen him do with Frederick.
“Never stop kissing me like that.”
“It shall be my pleasure.”
She stood and he wrapped her in a fluffy towel.
Frederick peered in. “How is she faring?”
Ilsa held out her hand, beckoning him. “I’m well.” Holding tight to each of them, she stepped out of the tub. When Bradford pulled her toward her bed, she stopped him.
“I’m ready for the final test.”
His brow crinkled. “Ilsa, you’ve been through so much. You don’t have to do this tonight.”
“I want to, Bradford.” She squeezed their hands. “When that man attempted to take me upstairs, my fear was unimaginable.”
Bradford and Frederick both stepped closer at the same instant. They pressed their bodies against her and wrapped her in their arms. She gripped them back. It felt simply enchanting.
Ilsa blinked away tears. “But I realized that it didn’t matter if it was one man or three, it was the idea of this stranger hurting me that frightened me. Just as it doesn’t matter if you take me alone or together, it will always be magic.”
They both nuzzled her and Ilsa was overcome by the beauty her life had found.
“I understand now I can love you both, together or one at a time. You will always be good to me, and I will always be good to you.”
“I promise it.” Bradford nuzzled her neck.
“Now if you please, don’t make me wait a moment longer. I am anxious to join with you.”
She stepped out of their embrace, pulling each one toward the master boudoir. Bradford went to the armoire to remove his clothing. Frederick slid his hands over Ilsa’s shoulder and she turned into his embrace.
“Tonight will be so good for you Ilsa. I promise it.”
She smiled and pecked a kiss against his lips. “I know.” She circled his neck with her arms and pulled him closer. Her next kiss was deeper, and Frederick met her urgency eagerly. She dabbed at the seam of his lips with her tongue and he responded by opening his mouth and meeting her tongue with his. His kiss was different than Bradford’s, softer and less bold, but it revealed the man as the subservient of the two. His role, she realized. Within our group of three.
And me, happily in the middle.
Frederick led her to the bed and Ilsa dropped her towel and climbed in first. He lay next to her and continued those soft kisses, sliding his hands over her body with reverence. Ilsa intensified their kiss as she pushed his robe off his shoulders and dragged it away from his body.
“Getting started without me, are you?” Bradford’s voice was light. The bed dipped behind her and the next instant, his warm body pressed close.
A tingle of intense satisfaction ignited upon her flesh. She gripped Frederick and leaned her head back to receive Bradford’s kiss at her cheek. For a long moment they all simply hugged. It was the most wonderful way she could think of to spend the rest of their lives.
Ilsa eased onto her back and both men rolled up against her. Bradford cupped and squeezed one breast while Frederick caressed her stomach, slowly teasing lower.
When she bent her arm to touch his face, Bradford took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Tonight is all for you, Ilsa. You don’t need to prove anything to us.”
“You’ve already proven you’re the strongest woman alive,” Frederick agreed. “Just lie back and let us pleasure you.”
She smiled, embarrassed at the same time delighted. “That sounds wonderful, but I feel as if I should contribute to some of the work.”
Bradford grinned. “Another time, love. There will be many ‘another times’.” His kisses moved across her jaw and down her throat. Frederick shifted and kissed a ticklish path across her stomach, hesitating to poke his tongue into her bellybutton, before continuing to her mound. Bradford found one rigid nipple and suckled on it.
“Oh.” The pleasure from two mouths and four hands was overwhelming. She arched her back, lifting her breast to Bradford’s greedy mouth. Frederick’s soft caresses urged her legs up and apart, and then his hot tongue was driving through her nether lips, parting and teasing, probing and licking. He took her nub between his lips and tugged. She arched off the bed and cried out as the first wave of ecstasy hit her like a sudden storm.
Frederick slid the tip of a finger inside her and everything came to a halt. The intense pleasure of that simple touch was both magnificent and excruciating. She needed so much more it hurt. He wriggled his finger and pressed up, but didn’t push it deeper.

“Oh God.”

She felt another hand, Bradford was touching her now. Together their curious, exploring fingers drove her mad.
“She’s so hot and wet,” Frederick uttered.
She rolled onto her side even as two fingers dipped and probed. Their teasing touches made her ache to be spread wide and filled deep. She grasped Bradford’s cock and squeezed. He groaned low in his throat.
“I need you inside me,” she whispered. There came no shame from those words, no embarrassment. There was no sin in wanting her husband, nor in wanting their lover. She urged Bradford onto his back and threw her leg over his hip. Frederick’s hands found her hips and helped her into position. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and glanced back at him. “And you.”
Frederick shifted between their legs and lay himself across her back. Her breath came fast and she rocked up and down, her body tight, as if of its own mind.
“Easy, sweetheart,” Frederick said against her ear.
Bradford caressed her arms. “We’ll do this slowly. There will be no pain.”
“The pain is from the slowly,” she said, nearly sobbing the words. Her excitement caused silver spots to float across her vision.
“It will be all the better for it,” Frederick promised. He eased back, kissing a path down her back. She shifted her hips, feeling Bradford’s cock pressed against her mons. The next instant Frederick’s hand was down there, guiding Bradford to readiness. His engorged head touched her and pushed in a gentle request for entry. Frederick pulled her outer lips wide with his fingers, allowing Bradford unhindered passage.
She closed her eyes and moaned. A curtain of exquisite agony draped over her as he sank deep.
“Don’t move.” The command came from Frederick.

But I want to, she thought. So badly.

And yet she understood. Her growing need was driving her wild, and she yearned for more. She was soon to get more, possibly even too much. The idea thrilled her.

I can do this, and I can do it well.

Frederick leaned over to grab the little glass bottle of oil from the bedside table, just as she’d seen Bradford do, and her heart leapt with excitement. The sudden press of warm, oily fingers jolted her deliciously. His fingers touched and tickled, sliding over her sphincter in a barely there caress. She went blind from the pleasure and fell into a kiss with Bradford.
Frederick had skilled, clever fingers and touched her in a way that made her insane with want. He widely circled her tight hole with a finger, each circumference growing smaller and smaller, closer to her dark entrance, warning her of what was to come. Circling, circling, tighter and tighter, until the tip of his finger pressed against the puckered flesh. She loved him for his gentle warning. He pushed inside and she sighed into Bradford’s mouth.
The touch felt hot and her body wanted to resist, but there was no pain. She arched her back and pushed, trying to relax the tight band. Bradford groaned at what the movement did to his cock.
“How does it feel?” Frederick asked her.
“Strange.” She swallowed, concentrating all thoughts on that one spot. “Nice.”
“It’s a most tender spot,” he told her. “While I don’t know how it compares to your pussy, I know from experience it is the most sensitive place on my whole body.”
“It is much more so,” she said breathlessly, “than my pussy.” The forbidden talk excited her more. When Bradford groaned again she realized she was squeezing at his cock with her muscles.
Frederick’s finger withdrew, immediately replaced by two. She gasped.
“Are you all right?”
“Frederick, I’m ready for you.”

“Sweet Ilsa.” His fingers disappeared. “Bradford, you should leave her body. It will be easier for her to accept me if she’s empty of you.”
“No please,” she said quickly. “I prefer it this way. Frederick, don’t be afraid.”
“Do as she says, Frederick, it’s her choice,” Bradford told him. “Besides, I’ll die if I leave her.”
“I’ll do whatever you ask.” Frederick had a smile in his voice.
He shifted up behind her. He took himself in hand and slid his long cock lengthwise through her oily crease, alternating with smearing the oil on his shaft with his fist. Once coated, he angled it to rub her with the blooming cap, once again giving her long moments to accept him.
“The tip will be the hardest to accept,” he whispered. “As it is the widest part of me. Once through, it will get easier.”
“Please don’t be afraid,” she said again.
He breached her. For a split second she feared her flesh would tear. Everything in her vision went white. Once his swollen head passed through the tight ring of her sphincter, the flare of pain ebbed, just as he promised it would. Thickness filled her to capacity and spread her body wider than she thought possible.
“Ohhhh,” she breathed out. “Oh yes.”
“Shall I stop?”

“Heavens no.”

“Good lord,” Bradford breathed out. “I can feel him inside you.”
Frederick continued his slow, but steady penetration. For a moment panic hovered. Every inch deeper felt like more than she could bear.
And then stars filled her eyes as she bore them both completely. Frederick covered her back with his warm body and the pressure halted. “You have us,” he whispered.
Her arms and legs trembled, and each panted breath was just short of a scream. Her excitement calmed in slow degrees, and finally she found herself magnificently pressed between their two strong bodies. It was pure magic.
“You’re amazing.” Bradford held her cheeks in his palms and kissed her sweetly. “Is it too much, love?”
“No, it’s perfect. Utterly, perfectly perfect.” Tears stung her eyes and her flesh was warm with sweat. Her entire lower body was captivated by them and every slight movement teetered on the edge of too much sensation.
She closed her eyes. “Move in me.”
“Only when you move upon us,” Bradford said. “You must control it, Ilsa. Otherwise we might hurt you.”
“You won’t, I know it. Please, I need you to.”
His hands slid down her body until he cupped the globes of her ass. Frederick moved his up and cupped her breasts. He was the first to begin nudging on her.
She turned her head and arched her back. “Oh yes.” Using her arms to propel her body, she pushed back to meet his. With Frederick’s help by pressing on her rather than moving in and out of her, she rode up and down Bradford’s cock.

“God. I won’t last long like this,” Bradford warned them through clenched teeth.
Ilsa put her hips into the motion. Frederick’s thigh muscles tightened and flexed against hers as he increased his motion as well. The rocking made her lower body grow warm and her moans increase in volume.
All-encompassing ecstasy rocked her senses. She screamed as the waves hit more intensely than anything she’d ever experienced. Bradford squeezed his eyes shut, utter rapture on his face, and her pussy grew slick with his seed. Frederick rose from her back and his hands went to her hips, where he gripped tightly. Hot pressure shot deep into her bowels. Her climax hit like rolling thunder, drowning out all other sensations but the two cocks deep inside her. The aftermath felt like cooling rain after the crack of lighting. Both men went still, letting her body flutter back down to earth like a petal on the wind.
Frederick slid out of her body, pushed free by her muscles’ natural response. She collapsed on Bradford, boneless, blind and mute. With Frederick’s help, he eased her onto her side and gently pulled out of her.

“Ilsa, love? Are you all right?”
“I am better than all right.” She smiled, though she didn’t have the energy to open her eyes. “We must do that again, very soon.”
Bradford chuckled. “All you need do is ask.”
Dimly she felt Frederick leave the bed, and Bradford whisper for him to bring a wet towel.
“Did you like it?” She opened her eyes to find him smiling down at her with absolute adoration. He traced her cheek with a fingertip.
“I loved it. I love you.” He kissed her.
“I love you, Bradford.”
The bed dipped under Frederick’s weight.
“Frederick?”
“Yes, love?” He kissed her cheek.
“I love you too.”
“Then we are all in agreement.”
She didn’t try to move as they eased her onto her back and Bradford used the warm, wet towel to gently clean her.
“This is your bed now,” Bradford said. He lay down beside her. “From now on you’ll spend your nights here, with us.”
“We’re three now.” Frederick settled in on the other side and tossed the sheet over them.
“We’re one now,” Bradford said. His voice seemed to drift on a cloud as sleep tugged at her.
Ilsa snuggled closer. “I’m so happy. I hope I always make you both happy, too.” She yawned, exhausted, but then suddenly came wide awake. “Oh, I almost forgot. I think I’m pregnant.”






About the Author
 
Crystal Kauffman is an award-winning, multi-published author who is the luckiest woman alive—she has her very own real-life prince charming for a husband. Crystal loves all genres of fiction, as long as they have lots of steamy sex and lots of satisfying romance. She’s been a closet erotica writer since…well, let’s just say before it was legal for her to buy it. Then the greatest thing happened. Publishing houses catering specifically to erotica were born, bringing Crystal out of the closet. The formation of Romance Writers of America’s Passionate Ink chapter, where she could mingle with other like-minded erotica writers, was proverbial icing on the cake.
 
Crystal welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
 
 
 
 
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