Avalon Revisited (12 page)

“Indeed. It is uncommon.” I tried not to look overly interested. I sipped my tea and looked away, as if bored with this conversation. It worked, for she came back at me with even more appalled zeal.

“Uncommon! It’s scandalous, my dear man! Once her father died, for her mother had died in childbirth and her father never remarried, she was all alone. Her father’s death did trouble the poor girl, but there it is! It was her own fault she had nowhere to go.”

“What about her family’s land?”

“All went to Henry, my husband, Albert’s older brother, as Albert Bainbridge had no other issue but Avalon, unfortunate man. He certainly couldn’t leave an estate to a spinster!”

The look on her face demanded that I agree. After all, it was social law!

“Certainly not.” I played my social role well.

“So, my Henry took pity on her and bought her a house on Baker Street. She works there as a landlady. Her tenants are her life now. That and her books, of course. She does love her books. I say, terribly unnatural. Don’t you find?”

“Quite,” I said, sipping my tea. My mind was reeling with images of Avalon and how it must’ve pained her to lose her father, but I kept my outward expression courteous, yet uninterested.

“So, Arthur,” Emily said, reaching across the table to touch my hand, “Enough about my bizarre spinster niece and more about you! Do tell me your story.” She patted my hand twice before picking up her tea again for another sip. She sat in silence, graciously waiting for me to begin.

Here was a good time to practice, for my story must be the same with Avalon, as they are family. I did not fear that any indiscretions between me and Emily would find their way back to Avalon’s ears, as Emily had as much reason to be discreet as I, but there might be small talk.

Must ensure they heard the same story, more or less. Best stick with the truth, or as near as the truth as I could get without giving too much detail. Naturally leaving out the supernatural parts.

“Not much to tell. Mother died in childbirth.”
True, just not giving birth to me.
“And father was consumptive.”
The official story, anyway. No need to mention that this was all over 350

years ago. Certainly.
“That left me alone with a fine inheritance, so here I am.” I raised my teacup to her in a sort of toast. Must milk the pathos with Avalon, as I was quite sure my normal charms wouldn’t sway her, as they haven’t yet, but I mustn’t let this one feel too maternal.

“Such a sad tale,” Emily said with the aforementioned maternal pity. This time her hand stoked my shoulder rather than my hand. Must change directions quickly.

“Not at all. I rather like being alone. I mean, once the grieving was over, and it was several years ago, my dear lady. No need to feel sorry for me.” I smiled and she followed suit.

“Truly,” I continued, “it’s not much to tell. I’d much rather talk about you.” I took her hand from my shoulder, kissed it, and then laid it back onto the lacy tablecloth near mine, allowing my hand to linger on hers while my eyes told her that I was indeed a man, not a boy.

It didn’t take her long to take full advantage of that opening. She smiled and then prattled on about her childhood and marrying at such a young age to a much older man. Twenty-plus years her senior. Still, it could’ve been worse. She alluded to her needs not being met anymore and that was my opening.

“Shall we retire to the library?” I asked, placing my hand over hers, which she took, offering a sweet, knowing smile as she did so. “It is much more... intimate.”

We passed Cecil on the way out of the parlor, and I said to him, “We’ll be in the library, Cecil, going over some important papers. Please do not disturb us unless absolutely necessary.”

This, of course, was Cecil’s cue to do just that. Disturb us after about twenty minutes. Time enough to establish my intentions of seduction, but not enough time for any true impropriety.

After all, Emily would have to go through the stages a proper married woman must go through in a seduction. The flirtation. The feigned insult. The blushing. Before finally giving in to what we both knew we were going to do. But she had prattled on so long about herself, that I no longer had time for intercourse before I had to dress to meet Avalon tonight. Although such action would be greatly pleasurable, it was with Avalon that I would much rather be. Hers was a much more important meeting.

This was also supposed to be a long seduction, so getting pelvic too soon would ruin it. After all, Emily would only be an appetizer to Avalon’s main course. And appetizers can be skipped to save room for the more succulent meal. With some luck, I could forego this one and have my carnal appetite satiated with Avalon. Long shot, that. But still, one can dream.

We entered the library and she commented about my extensive book collection, making a snide remark about how Avalon and I would make a good couple after all. It was meant to put me on the defensive, but it didn’t work.

She sat on the chaise longue. Her chartreuse dress grossly clashed with the rich, dark-patterned burgundy upholstery of the chaise, as well as with the overall darkness of the room, which was mostly done in deep walnut and burgundy tones with gold accents. Bookshelves not only lined the walls of the entire room, stretching up to the third story, but there were more self-standing bookshelves in the center of the room as well. A wooden ladder sufficed to reach the higher books, and it was set into a track so that one may move it from section to section. Quite a fine room, really, and this chartreuse dress was a blight upon it all. She looked like a giant lime bobbing in a pool of fine wine.

I closed the heavy door and sat down next to her, but not too close. Not yet.

“Let’s drop any pretense that we don’t know what’s about to happen, shall we?” she said, and I was immediately turned on.

This was new!

Before I could even respond, she had moved against me and was kissing me. Her hand massaged me just in the right place. She sure knew what she was doing, and she wasn’t shy about it. Only a few moments of her forceful caresses, and she had my complete attention.

Everywhere. Chartreuse or no, that dress was coming off. Soon.

“Mmmm,” she said, stroking me over my trousers, “let’s take him out to play.”

Really?

This woman wasted no time. My pants were unbuttoned and I was out for all to see before I could fully comprehend what was happening. Certainly a change from the customary order of things.

“Um,” I said, not quite sure how to stop her or if I even wanted her to stop. What a complicated position. My heart was with Avalon, but my body was here, and--
OH!
She grasped me firmly in her gloved hand and began to move it up and down my engorged shaft.

Ohhh...yes....

NO! Avalon. Must remember Avalon. My love.
She began stroking me faster.
Ohhh...
No. No.

Avalon.
I tried to keep my thoughts on
Avalon. Must stop Emily. Ahhh.....

Before I could formulate any words one way or the other, she slid to the floor between my knees. After using it for a brief, coquettish smile, her warm, soft mouth covered me completely.

She licked all around my shaft, and I moaned out loud despite myself. Damn the signal I gave to Cecil!

Avalon. Avalon. Don’t forget about Avalon.

She slid her mouth around me until her lips touched the base, and then she slowly withdrew, flicking her tongue on the underneath side as she did. It was ecstasy. Over and over again, sucking gently as she reached the tip before plunging down again and again and again. I threw my head back to mask the fangs that had descended in my excitement. No killing my beloved’s aunt. At least not today.

Just as I was about to come, as if she could tell, she stopped suddenly.

“My turn,” she said, and she climbed on top of me. I was mostly reclined on the chaise longue by this time. She gathered up those chartreuse folds, exposing (yes! chartreuse!) stockings that extended up to her thighs, straddled me, and lowered herself onto my now throbbing member. She slid down with ease and suddenly chartreuse didn’t seem like such an awful color. She rode me expertly. When I tried to guide her hips with my hands, she took them none too gently and thrust them up over my head, holding them there while she rode me until she came. Twice. Each time I came close to climax, she would slow down and prolong it.

Experience. Beats virginal blushing every time.

Cecil would be busting in any moment.

I bucked up into her and it was she who moaned this time, but she wouldn’t relinquish control. She rode me harder and harder until my knees buckled. A bouncing chartreuse delight, that woman was. She and I cried out in climax together, just as Cecil opened the door.

He didn’t even blink. He had seen much worse.

“Urgent matter needs your attention, m’lord,” he said.

Breathlessly, I responded. “I’ll be there presently, Cecil.”

I fully expected Emily to cover her face in shame, but she sat proudly there on top of me, still moving slightly, without the least bit of embarrassment.

“Thank you, Cecil,” she said, smiling. “That will be all.”

Amazing woman, I decided. I underestimated her.

I think I have a new favorite color.

Thomas had the brougham waiting at the curb. I had dressed in my finest black brocade dining jacket, trimmed with silver buttons, and deep red and black brocade waistcoat. The combination complemented my fair complexion. Although I rarely wear color of any kind, red was reserved for special occasions, and tonight was very special, indeed. A black ascot held with an opulent pearl pin completed the finery along with black gloves and a top hat. I stepped into the coach anxious to meet Avalon at The Wellington in Piccadilly, seven o’clock. It was a beautiful Monday evening in London. Chilly, but not too cold. Dim and grey. The streets were full of people milling about, and I watched them with uncommon joy. It must be a symptom of love. Or perhaps love coupled with complete coital satisfaction. Emily had left without even a kiss goodbye. Exactly as I liked it with such women. No attachments or pretense of affection.

Just in, orgasm, out. Perfect.

Since I had arrived about ten minutes early, I stood outside The Wellington with my hands resting on my walking stick just watching London night life. There were still fewer people out than usual, but many more than a few nights ago. No doubt they kept out of the darker areas of London like Gray’s Inn anyway, but here in Covent Garden, they felt safe enough. Several groups were lingering outside the restaurant, no doubt waiting for a seat. Cecil had sent word early this morning for a reservation. Although there was hardly need, for every restaurant in London had room for a viscount at any given time. One of the many perks of being well-born.

I thought singularly about my mannerisms to Avalon. What to show her and what to hide. I had to show her intelligence, for she respected the learned. Had to play down the title, as such things were of no importance to her. If anything, she found nobility and the well-born elitist, which, of course, we were. No games. I had to be brutally honest and open. Hopefully, that would be a pleasant surprise for her, one who didn’t take to such nonsense as fleeting fashion and flirting games. From her, I had to evoke compassion, respect, and perhaps a bit of intrigue. The usual to hide, of course, but I would not be as forward as I normally was. No, I had to be humble and proper. This was a different kind of woman than that of the scrumptiously chartreuse Emily Bainbridge. I still smelled her on me, and that was enough to have to adjust my trousers on the sly outside this quite crowded restaurant. I quickly started thinking about Henry and Catherine, picturing them together, as much as memory would allow, trying to anger myself so as not to linger on thoughts of Emily. His fat frame gyrating on top of her. Of course, he was not fat until long after he had shamed and discarded her, but that’s how I chose to remember it anyway.

Indeed. That image never fails to wash all amorous thoughts away.

A simple black carriage drawn by a single grey mare pulled up, and Avalon stepped out. She handed the driver a few coins from her black satin bag. She was a vision, looking like a fine woman again, not like the ruffian boy of yesternight. She was again dressed all in black. My color of choice as well, but unusual for a woman. Then, this was quite an unusual woman. This dress, simpler than the last but no less lovely, was black and white striped, double breasted, with black ribbon accents down each side of the bodice and around her wrists. The ribbon also criss-crossed up her arm, inspiring images of a corset. Well done. A small, ruffled top hat was pinned in place atop her ebony curls and adorned with a matching ribbon around its belly. The ensemble’s black full skirt was adorned with the same black and white striped pattern draped in two frilly accents across the top as well as in three rows along the bottom, creating a flirty ruffle.

The bottom tip of the skirt brushed the ground as she walked, properly covering her ankles, although I had caught a scandalous peek when she had emerged from the carriage.

Bowing to her, I offered my arm. She took it, as was proper.

“Good Evening, Miss Bainbridge,” I said, tipping my hat to her.

“Good Evening, Lord York. Lovely night, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed. Might I say that you look beautiful tonight?”

“Thank you,” she said politely. “That is a fine suit you have as well.”

It was a start.

“Shall we?” I asked, as I led her inside. The interior ambiance of The Wellington reflected my intentions: dark and romantic. Scores of couples huddled around small, candlelit tables, laying out a carpet of twinkling lights before us.

“Lord York,” the maitre d’ said. “How lovely to see you again.”

“Always a pleasure, Alfred. I trust you got Cecil’s request this morning.”

“I did, m’lord, but you know you need no reservation here.”

See.

“Of course, but one likes to be polite,” I replied.