Just One Night (Le Débauché Club)

Just One Night

Aubrey Beck

Copyright © 2013
by Aubrey Beck

Cover Design by Lily Smith

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Berridge Downs, Essex – April, 1810

Trepidation
washed over Emma, Lady Alnwick, as she stared out at the line of coaches from her carriage window. What was taking so long this evening? She was already nervous.

What had she been thinking?
She shouldn’t be here. She certainly shouldn’t have asked him to escort her. And every moment that stretched out before they reached Lord Longfield’s estate, the more she was certain she would be caught, found out, publicly ruined.

“Lift your skirt
s, Emma,” James Armstrong, Earl of Haswell, called from the darkness across the coach.

She gulped. Was she really going to do this tonight?

“I said,” he began, his gravelly voice, laced with a bit of determination, “lift your skirts, Emma.”

“M-my skirt?” she asked, like a ninny. That had been their agreement, hadn’t it?
He’d take her to Longfield’s
Le Débauché
Masquerade
and she’d do whatever he asked in return.

James
flicked his fingers upwards, gesturing for her to get on with it, a patch of moonlight catching his movement. Panic, fear and a bit of desire washed over her. She
did
want him. She had for some time. And this was their agreement, but what if someone found out?

“Emma,” he said her name with steely determination, “lift your skirt
s and open your legs. I want to see what I was promised for the evening.”

She gulped again, but then leaned back against the plush squabs of his coach.
With shaking hands, she drew her skirts upwards into her fists, the soft material brushing against her calves, stopping briefly at her knees before she tugged the dress further, over her thighs until she finally released the fabric at her waist.

The masculine tsking sound coming from the other side of the coach, made her heart stop. Emma’s eyes shot across the darkened carriage. She could see him now. Well, mostly. A
black domino covered most of James’ face, but she could make out his chiseled jaw and the piercing blue of his eyes. She’d know those eyes anywhere.

“Naughty girl,” he chided, folding his
strong arms across his chest. “I distinctly told you no drawers tonight.”

He had. But she couldn’t imagine going
out without them, and what would she have said to her maid? “I—um—”

“Take them off.”

The coach moved forward and panic squeezed her heart. “We’re almost there, my lord.”

“We could be waiting at the steps, with the door open, but we’re not getting out until you have removed your drawers
,
my lady
. So you can do so for an audience of one or for all of Longfield’s staff, waiting to greet us. It’s entirely up to you.”

Oh good heavens! He meant it. She could hear it in his voice. Though Emma had embarked down this path, she didn’t want anyone else to ever learn of it.

Her fingers shook even more as she untied the ribbon at the top of her drawers. His eyes stayed on her, watching every movement, as though soaking it all in to replay in his mind over and over in the future. She wasn’t sure what she thought about that, what she felt about that. Was it a good thing?

Emma lifted her bottom from the bench
so she could slide the drawers down her legs. Cold air swirled around her as she leaned back against the squabs, her dress up around her middle.

“Very good,” he said softly, moving forward on his bench, toward her.  Both of his gloveless hands grasped her knees. Warmth shot through her from his possessive touch. Then he pushed her knees wider
for his gaze.

No one had ever looked upon her like this
, not even Michael, and alarm raced through Emma. She would have closed her legs, if James wasn’t holding her open, as he was.

Again he tsked. “You are the one who asked for this,” he reminded her, sounding for the first time like the charming man she’d known
him to be the last five years.

“I—I—know.”

He nodded, taking her words as a sign that it was all right to continue this masquerade of theirs. James’ warm hand trailed up Emma’s thigh before one finger pressed into her slick opening. “Already glistening,” he said appreciatively, a crooked grin settled on his lips. “Very nice, Emma.” But then his smile faded away and his presence seemed more commanding, even more powerful when he added, “But you were a naughty girl, all the same.
Drawers
,” he said the word as though it was a crime right along with murder or treason. “You’ll have to be punished.” He retrieved his finger from her warmth.

Punished?
That was certainly not their agreement. Emma’s mouth went dry as the coach stopped once more in the queue. “B-but my maid,” she began to explain.

But James shook his head, making it clear that excuses wouldn’t be tolerated. “I specifically told you no drawers.
I know you heard me.”

And
she had, but punishment? Emma tried to close her legs, but James slid his finger inside her once again at that moment. Desire washed over her instantly at his intrusion, but she’d rather he not know that. Not now, perhaps not ever. Though she’d wanted him for so long, this…Well, this side of him she still wasn’t certain about.

“And so ve
ry tight,” he complimented. “Michael either had a very small cock or you were very rarely fucked.”

Such coarse words! Emma would have gasped, but it seemed a foolish thing to do at the moment. Her skirts
up around her waist and James’ finger exploring her inner channel. Being offended by his choice of words seemed rather silly, all things considered.

James snorted as he shook his head. “What the devil was wrong with him?”

With Michael? Emma had long given up wondering about that question. And now that her husband was gone, there was no reason to speculate on it any longer. What was the point?

“
I happen to know his cock wasn’t small,” James said, seemingly more to himself than to her. “He could have had you in his bed at anytime and yet…”

And yet he’d spent his time at
Le Débauché
entertainments such as Longfield’s instead. Emma didn’t want to think about any of that. Oh, part of her wanted to know why Michael had never bedded her after their wedding night, why he preferred venues such as this to bed other women; but that wasn’t what tonight was about. Not really.

No, tonight was about James. She wanted him, had wanted him for
quite some time, but he’d never given her a second’s thought until she asked about attending this masquerade.

“It’s no matter.” James’ voice broke into her thoughts. “I’ll fuck the tightness right out of you.”

Dear heavens, a jolt of something, some need she couldn’t really name pooled inside her. This was exactly what she wanted from him, what she’d dreamt of. This was what had driven her to plead for his escort.

“Like that idea, do you?” James’
baritone chuckle captured her attention. “You can let go of my finger now, Emma.”

Let go of his? Oh! A blush warmed Emma’s cheeks as she tried to relax that part of her.
How terribly embarrassing.

“Let’s see how you taste
, shall we?” James retrieved his hand from her, brought his finger to his mouth and licked her juices from it. His eyes never left hers and Emma had no idea she could delight in such wickedness. “Mmm. Tonight, I’ll have to indulge even more.”

Before Emma could find the words to respond to that, James
retrieved a little red pouch from his coat pocket. “What’s that?”

“This?” he raised the pouch, velvet, it looked like, up for her perusal. “Your punishment.”

He truly did mean to punish her? Emma squeaked when the coach lurched forward once more.

James’ rakish grin was once again
, firmly in place. “I always say what I mean, Emma.” He pulled the string on the pouch and then emptied the contents, four silver balls into his hand. They didn’t look like a punishment.  They were larger than marbles, about a third in size of a billiard ball. Moonlight reflected in the smooth silver, nearly making the orbs glow.  “Now open your pussy for me.”

She could not have heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon.”

His light blue gaze pierced her. “Take your fingers and open your pussy for me,” he repeated slowly.

Heavens
, she shouldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this.  She—

“Your tight little pussy shouldn’t have any problem
holding on to them,” he explained. “But should you let one drop, I’ll have to have to put it in your tight little ass instead.”

“M-my—”

James’s eyes narrowed on her. “You’re the one who asked for this, Emma. You’re the one who begged for it. Don’t tell me you’re going to be a coward now.”

The coach stopped again, though they weren’t there yet; and the reprieve allowed her time to gather her thoughts. She had asked James for this
, though she hadn’t really known what she was asking for, apparently. Still, he was right, she’d begged for him to escort her. She
did
want him, and if this was the way to have him… “I’m not a coward.”

“Then open your pussy, Emma.”

A sentence she never imagined anyone would ever say to her. Tentatively, she used both of her ungloved hands, opening her slit, which she found slick to the touch, wide for him.  James blew his hot breath against one of the sliver balls, he kissed it, then pressed it into her opening.

Emma gasped at the intrusion, at the weight.
The unyielding ball wasn’t like anything she’d ever felt before. She couldn’t keep something like this inside her. Was he mad? Before she could say as much, he pushed a second ball inside her.

Good heavens! Did he mean to use
all
of them?

He couldn’t possibly—

The weight and size of the two silver balls inside her, held her channel open. She’d never dreamed something could feel quite so…exquisite. Tingles raced from her core to every part of her as though energy raced to each nerve ending she possessed. Who knew she was such a wanton?

And then James pressed a third ball inside her opening
, a wicked twinkle in his light blue eyes as though daring her to protest.

“James!” she gasped. “I can’t take anymore.”
The coach moved forward. Music grew louder. They were almost there.

“That’s
why
it’s a punishment, love. The next time I tell you not to wear drawers, I expect you’ll listen to me.”

The next time?
She hadn’t said anything about attending the
Le
Débauché
on a regular basis. And he certainly hadn’t said anything about punishment. Her mouth fell open in silent protest as he pressed the final ball inside her, filling her, stretching her. The final insertion pressed the other solid balls further and deeper within her.

James smoothed her skirts back down to her ankles, then he slid to her side of the
coach, filling the bench beside her, a black domino in his hand. “You’ll want this, Emma, to keep everyone else from knowing the very prim and proper Lady Alnwick has fallen to their debauched level.”

The coach door opened
, and warm chandelier light spilled into the carriage. Emma gasped as she quickly placed the domino over her head, panicked someone might recognize her.

James chuckled once again as he stepped from the carriage, blocking her
from view until she’d secured the mask tightly behind her head. Blast her curls for getting in the way.

She met his eyes, wondering, not for the first time that evening, if she was ready for this. He urged her silently forward
, and she
did
want to come with him. She
did
want to know the pleasure of becoming one with him. She did want to shed the prim and proper person that was wrapped so tightly about herself, at least with him. Deciding she was ready, or as ready as she was going to be, Emma took a deep breath and then accepted James’ proffered hand.

She stepped from the coach
onto the gravel drive and couldn’t move another inch. Good heavens! She couldn’t walk around with four silver balls inside her. One false move and they’d all fall from between her legs.

James must have sensed her hesitation because he dipped his head down toward hers. “Keep that pussy tight, Emma.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

His arm slid around her waist as he guided her forward
, one excruciating step at a time. “You held on to my finger quite well. You can do this.” His warm breath against her cheek nearly made her weak in the knees, which wouldn’t do if she was to keep those blasted balls in place. “Be glad you’re so tight or it might be next to impossible.”

It was
nearly impossible now.

“
Though you’ll be a lot less tight after I’m through with you tonight.”

His words made her core pulse with need
, one she didn’t truly understand. Michael had declared her frigid on their wedding night and never returned to her bed. But… she didn’t want to be frigid. A frigid woman wouldn’t have allowed James to insert four silver balls into her slick channel, would she? Of course not. Whatever she was, she wasn’t Michael North’s wife any longer. But she wasn’t James Armstrong’s lover either, and
that
she desperately did want to be.