His Dark Obsession (4 page)

Aghast, Sarah raised her face to his.

Pierce was pleased to see her plump lips, now pursed in an adorable “o”, had returned to a blush pink. They were such an unusual shade. Not red. Pink. He wondered what hue they would take on swollen and bruised from servicing his cock.

Leaning in close, he whispered seductively in her ear. “You cannot run from me now.”

Sarah stared into his determined gaze, feeling like a captured bird.

Before she could respond, someone cleared their throat. Ensnared in his embrace, she had forgotten the presence of anyone else in the room. Looking from the abashed gaze of Elma to the enraged one of Florence.

“Sarah, you should cover up before Mrs. Needham…” warned Elma.

“Oh my God!”

“Too late,” finished Elma lamely as Mrs. Needham flew in to the room. Horrified at the scene before her. “Lord Warrington, I am not running a house of ill-repute!”

“I am aware of that Mrs. Needham. These were extraordinary circumstances. If you would indulge me with your assistance?”

Mrs. Needham sprung forward with her ever-present handkerchief, laying it inadequately across Sarah’s exposed unmentionables. Pierce rose and collected his coat, giving the now hopelessly wrinkled material a shake. Elma gingerly helped Sarah rise, careful not to dislodge the scrap of lace keeping them all from another indelicate scene.

Drawing out his billfold from an inner pocket, Pierce withdrew several signed bank notes. “I believe this should cover the damages to the dress and corset.”

“Oh, no. You shouldn’t…” started Sarah, but one look from Pierce silenced her.

Withdrawing several more bank notes, Pierce continued, “This should engage her services for a photographic session of say about a week.”

Mrs. Needham stared as the pile of notes in her outstretched palm grew larger.

“Lord Warrington, are you sure you don’t want one of my more experienced girls, perhaps Victoria? You haven’t even seen her yet!”

“I want her.” His resolute tone ended the argument and sent a shiver through Sarah. “And this should allow you to give her a few days uninterrupted rest with no other engagements till I require her after week’s end,” finished Pierce as he placed yet a few more notes in Mrs. Needham’s possession. “I trust this will be sufficient to smooth over ruffled sensibilities?”

“Why, yes! Yes, your lordship!” simpered Mrs. Needham.

“Very good.” Taking his hat from the waiting Mary, with a final bow to the women in the room he left without another word.

The women waited silently till they heard his tread down the narrow stairway and the closing creak of the old green door before there was a burst of activity and exclamation.

“My word!”

“Oh Sarah!”

“My dress!”

“Never mind that rag, Florencia,” admonished Mrs. Needham. “Go tell cook to send up some strong beef tea to my private parlor. And not the kind she buys from that tradesman, tell her to use the good kind.
The Valentine’
s.”

Sarah and Elma exchange looks. Lord Warrington must have given Mrs. Needham a great deal of money for her to allow Sarah in her private parlor. The girls were never allowed in their employer’s inner sanctuary.

Actually, they let rooms from Mrs. Needham on the third floor. They were converted servants quarters so of course they were cramped and sparse. They had an inner seasonality bringing the warmth of the summer and the cold of the winter right to your bedside despite all efforts. It beat a boarding house in the East End. Sarah shared a room with Elma. Florence shared one with Caroline who was currently out in the country on an engagement with a landscape artist. Victoria paid extra for her own room. There used to be two other girls, sisters. Turns out they weren’t sisters. The references they gave Mrs. Needham were false. They were just a couple of prostitutes who were propositioning her clients.

“Euphemia, take Sophronia to her room to change into a dressing gown and then bring her down to my parlor. You may stay with her and read to her the rest of the afternoon.”

“Yes, Mrs. Needham.”

Just as they were leaving, Victoria entered with a silver tray. “Mary forgot the seed cake and fresh berries on the tea tray. Did I miss anything?”

Sarah burst out laughing before clutching her sore ribs. Holding the tattered remains of the magenta dress together, she humorously informed Victoria, “Oh you know dear, just the usual boring client afternoon tea!”

She spent the rest of the afternoon gossiping with Elma about Lord Warrington. No detail was too small. The cut of his coat. The feel of his arms. The scent of his cologne. Although whenever Mrs. Needham came in to check on them, they would be dutifully sitting by the fire with Elma reading from Henry James’
Portrait of a Lady.

~*~

“Good god, you’re naked!”

“Not quite, Parker,” responded Pierce sardonically as he handed his long-suffering butler his wrinkled frock coat. He could understand his butler’s affront since it simply was not done for a gentleman to gad about in his shirtsleeves but it could not be helped. The coat was wrinkled beyond repair and covered in carpet dust.

The butler held the frock coat away from his person between two fingers as if it emitted an offensive odor in addition to offending his sight sensibilities. “Skiffins will positively take to his bed when he sees this, your lordship.”

Skiffins was Pierce’s over-excitable valet. “You’re right, of course, Parker. We don’t want a repeat of the starched collar incident of ‘96.” Parker gave a subtle shudder in response. Pierce tapped his fingers to his mouth as he thought. “Send it to Henry Poole & Co. on Saville with a note expressing my apologies of course.”

“Poole? Are you sure, my lord? He is the most well known tailor on Saville row. You do have a reputation to protect, after all.”

“The starched collars of ‘96, Parker.” Pierce reminded him flatly.

“Say no more, my lord.” Parker turned to complete his errand. Turning back, he inquired, “Were you successful in finding a subject for your latest photographic camera endeavor, my lord?”

Pierce paused in his perusal of the latest round of cards and invitations on the way to his study. “As a matter of fact, I did. You will absolutely hate her,” he replied with undisguised amusement at his butler’s expense.

“And why is that, my lord?”

“She’s American.”

Laughing, Pierce enclosed himself in his study to review some documents his overseer had sent by messenger from his estate in Surrey. Unfortunately, he was distracted by a pair of lush breasts and beautiful lips…and everything he wanted to do to them.

After several days of anticipation and several hours of primping and fussing by Mrs. Needham, Sarah was standing in front of Lord Warrington’s imposing residence in Regent’s Park at York Terrace East. Climbing the high stone steps, she grasped the heavy brass lion’s head knocker and knocked three times. After what felt like an eternity, a stately gentleman with a bald head and a rather enormous nose answered the door.

“May I help you, miss?”

“I have an appointment with Lord Warrington. I am Miss Sophronia Greyson.”

“Very well. I believe you are expected. If you please.” The man stepped to the side and gestured for her to enter the dark cool entranceway. “Wait here.”

Gingerly stepping over the threshold, Sarah took in her surroundings. In keeping with the homes around Regent’s Park, it was narrow with extremely high ceilings. She could tell it was modern because of gas lighting framing the large gilt mirror. The hall was decorated in deep green and blue jewel tones. Hand-painted wallpaper depicting peacocks with their tail feathers in full regalia highlighted with gold was her favorite part. Although the center table full of fresh flowers was beautiful, too. Her only real chance to see fresh flowers were the ones on the London street carts or in the small bunches sold by the lavender girls. They always had such a down-trodden wilted look about them. Not these. They looked fresh and exotic.

Just as she was reaching out to touch one silky bright yellow petal, the butler returned. “Follow me.”

Sarah pulled back her hand like a chastised schoolgirl. Lowering her head, she dutifully followed the butler. Resisting the urge to reach out and touch any of the other wonderful tapestries, upholsteries, figurines and polished wood furniture they passed on their way deeper into Lord Warrington’s dwelling.

They walked past a drawing room, morning parlor and reception room. Sarah started to get a little nervous as they continued into the more private area of the home walking past the breakfast room. She was a modern woman and an American at that so she didn’t hold with those stuffy old traditions about chaperone's and a girl not being free to walk about where she pleased it was practically the 20th century after all, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t smart about things.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Where are we going? I only ask because Mrs. Needham has strict rules about her models meeting gentleman in their private quarters even if that is where their studio happens to be.” Mrs. Needham had no such rule. It was the possibility of being alone with
him
again that made her crave a more public setting. She feared his presence as much as she anticipated it.

The butler turned and gave her what could only be described as a disgusted look. He refused to reply. Sarah did not repeat the question.

They turned down a small hallway next to the breakfast room. Sarah was surrounded by warm, perfumed air. She briefly closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Big mistake.

“Ow!”

Sarah rubbed her smarting nose after colliding with the butler’s back. He did not even turn.

“Lord Warrington. May I present, Miss Sophronia Greyson.”

Sarah peeked around the butler’s shoulder and let out a very un-British gasp.

“Thank you Parker. You may leave us. Miss Sophronia. Please do come in,” invited Pierce.

It was hard to take in all the splendor at once. It was a feast for the senses. Like a perfect little Eden caught under a crystal globe.

“You have your own conservatory?” asked Sarah, staring about her in wonder.

“I do.”

“In the middle of London,” she continued without even hearing him. She spun around with her arms wide, like a child.

A white ornate iron frame held large panels of glass leading to a high dome ceiling. The room was shaped like a large circle. On the side walls, every third panel was an intricate stained glass depiction of dragonflies, frogs and unique gold and orange fish. The floor was an intricate black and white tile pattern which helped emboldened all the bright lush colors. There were orange trees, pink camellias, purple Canterbury bells, blood red dahlias. She could not see them but the unmistakable scent of lilac and myrtle told Sarah the lord’s collection of flora was extensive.

Incongruently in the center of this flower-filled paradise was a table filled with strange metal instruments, bottles of chemicals and odd shaped polished wooden boxes.

“You use the conservatory for your studio?”

“It has the most light. The rest of the house is all dark corners and shadowed alcoves.”

The velvet-edge to his voice gave his benign comment a seductive feel which made Sarah shiver despite being wrapped in the temperate air of the conservatory.

“So you are a photographer?” she asked. Her voicing sounding hollow and thin to her ears.

“Are you disappointed?” He asked the question casually as he polished a camera lens but his eyes were fixed and intent on her face.

“Quite the opposite, in fact,” Sarah responded cheerily. Turning away to caress the petals of a larkspur.

“Why is that?”

“The painters can be so tedious expecting you to hold the same pose for hours and hours. Some let you talk but others expect you to stay silent. The illustrators are better. They usually work much faster with pencil. I like the photographic cameras best. Even with the daguerreotype you only have to sit still for fifteen minutes or so.”

She was rambling. It was hard not to be nervous. It wasn’t that he was a lord. The photographic camera was a new toy for the wealthy. It was common for the girls to be sent on appointments to various nice homes around the city. It wasn’t even that he was handsome. Sarah was a pretty girl and pretty girls attracted the attention of handsome boys all time. Perhaps that was it. She was used to the attentions of handsome, devil-may-care boys. Lord Warrington was not a boy. He was a man. A handsome man with ice blue eyes. Eyes that seemed to assess and examine. As if he were looking at you with one of those lenses on the table. But the lens saw far more than the color of your eyes or the swirl of a lock of hair.

“Shall we get started?”

“How do you want me?”

Pierce raised an eyebrow and gave Sarah a long penetrating look.

The moment the words came out of her mouth, Sarah wished the earth would open and swallow her whole right to the center like in that book by Jules Verne.

“Ah…I mean…I mean…where do you want me?”

Those beautiful sardonic lips of his she first noticed during their chance encounter on the streets of London only twisted further.
Dang it, she was making it worse!

Pierce watched her cheeks blush a deep dark pink to match her lips. Next to her golden skin and black hair, the effect was startling.

“There is a padded ottoman in front of the orange trees, please sit there.”

Sarah rushed to do his bidding. Grateful to move on from the awkward moment. Sitting primly on the small upholstered bench, she waited quietly while he positioned his camera and arranged the plates.

Seeking a return to a more mundane topic. She thought inquiring about his photographic equipment should be safe. “Do you prefer dry or wet plates?”

Again, Pierce turned those ice blue eyes on her, reading more in to her question than she intended. Sarah bit her lip in frustration. Pierce’s gaze moved from her eyes to her lips before answering. “I work with them all. I like the variety.”

He was baiting her. Despite considering herself a rather forward independent woman of the practically 20th century, Sarah felt out of her depth. She was still a little too innocent to play this game.

After setting the large wood framed camera with its round lens on a tripod several feet away, Pierce then focused his attention on her.

Sarah was mesmerized as he paused to simply stare at her…only there was nothing simple about it. His azure blue eyes were as deep and unfathomable as the ocean she once compared them to. They stared into her. They stared through her. He began to edge closer…slowly…deliberately without breaking the intensity of his regard.

Trapped in his gaze, Sarah was afraid to move. He prowled closer still.

The smell of his cologne drifted towards her on a balmy current of air. Bay rum. The earthy masculine scent dominated over the delicate floral fragrance of the conservatory. He had removed his frock coat, dressed only in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat. The silk waistcoat with a bold dark green striped pattern was tight-fitting emphasizing his trim waist and flat stomach. He wore it over a pair of buff trousers.

What Sarah noticed most was the soft linen of the shirt. The moisture in the conservatory air had made it almost transparent in some places. It slightly clung to his right upper arm showing a hint of well-toned muscle and possibly a tattoo. She only knew of such things after seeing the sailors on the ship during her crossing. The idea a wealthy and respected lord of the realm might have a low-man’s art form on his body deeply intrigued her.

Pierce now stood directly in front her. Sarah had to tilt her head back to see his face. Like before, the impact of having him towering over her was powerful. She felt small and vulnerable. A gentleman would have seated himself so the woman wouldn’t have to strain her neck.

Pierce remained standing.

He reached out to cup her chin, tilting her head back even farther. Sarah felt off-balance both in mind and body. Finally he spoke.

“I am fascinated by contrasts…transitions. Light to shadow. Soft to rough. Saint to sinner.
Pain to pleasure
. I want to capture these contrasts. Capture moments. Emotion,” his deep voice intoned. Sarah listened, enthralled…and honestly a little frightened.
Pain to pleasure?

Pierce gently ran the tip of his thumb over her plump lower lip. “For today I just want to photograph these beautiful soft round lips.” He pushed down on her lip till her mouth opened. Watching her face closely for a reaction, he slowly pushed his thumb into the warm, wet opening.

Her eyes widened in alarm as she instinctively bit down.

The scrape of her teeth against the underside of this thumb combined with the hurried push of her tongue sent the blood pulsing straight to his cock. Patience, he silently warned himself. Ignoring her mewing sounds of complaint, he pushed his thumb in deeper, watching as her bright viridian eyes turned a dark green gold with her burgeoning desire.

“Swirl your tongue around the tip,” he commanded. His voice hoarse with barely suppressed lust.

Sarah was unnerved. The overt, intimate act far surpassing his earlier transgressions. She could see a thick ridge swell against the tight fabric of his buff trousers. She had been to the museum and seen the notorious Elgin marbles. She knew it was his…his…
member.
She raised large, tormented eyes to him. Seeing his clenched jaw and slightly narrowed eyes focused entirely on her mouth, she knew he would not relent until she obeyed. Hesitantly placing the side of her tongue along his thumb, she dutifully swished it along the rough pad of his finger. Tasting his skin.

“Good girl. Now hold it still,” he ordered. Sarah submitted.

Pierce pulled his thumb back before forcing past her lips again. Glorying in the silky feel of her tongue. Imagining it swirling around his cock as he pushed it deep into her throat.

Sarah closed her eyes. Confused by the fluttering in her stomach his harsh commands caused. The growing warmth flowing through her middle each time he pushed his thumb deeper into her mouth.

Knowing it was a matter of mere seconds before his control snapped. Pierce took an abrupt step back. Releasing her mouth. After a few calming breaths, he changed tactic.

Almost absently, he rubbed the back of his fingers along her cheek. Sarah could feel the cold metal of his signet ring against her warm skin. When he spoke again, it was a low husky murmur. “I will contrast them to these sharp, high cheek bones of yours.”

His returning to the photographic session at hand, confused Sarah even more. She felt on edge. Unsteady.

Pierce took a step away to once more stare at her in that dark enigmatic way. With the lush green setting, it made her feel like Eve and the Devil in the Garden of Eden.
Would she be tempted to fall, too?

After looking through the lens of his camera, Pierce returned to Sarah, going down on his haunches. She was wrong. This was much worse. Having his face close to hers, feeling his breath against her cheek, getting a tiny intimate peek of a few dark chest hairs in the opening of his shirt.
Oh my!

“Now, Sophronia or Sarah…what the devil is your actual name? I couldn’t get a straight answer when you were heeding god’s call to heaven the other day.”

“Soph…” Her voice cracked. Gently clearing it she shyly said, “Sarah, my lord, Sarah Grey.”

“Very well, Sarah.” He nodded his head in approval.

While disliking Sophronia, Sarah had never truly liked her own name. It always sounded a bit immature and high-pitched to her ears. She very much so liked the way he said it. Instead of emphasizing the end like everyone else, he deepened the middle. She thought to tell him so but was afraid he would once again misinterpret her words.