The Secret Diary of Lady Catherine Bexley (3 page)

‘Do you want my cock in your cunt then, Nancy?’ he grunted, slapping her flesh again.

‘Oh yes!’ the maid simpered.

Without further preamble Lord Stanton slipped his cock into her soaking quim. The maid cried out loudly, in pleasure or pain, I had no idea. Then Lord Stanton began to buck like the stallion, as I often wished my husband would. He took her from behind, with the sound of his thighs beating against her as he plunged with ruthless abandon.

Dear diary, whether it was the tightness of my stays, my prolonged crouch against the door, or the sheer excitement of what I had seen, I felt my head whirl, and I was fit to faint. I reached to my purse to take my smelling salts, but it was too late. I struggled to stand, felt myself stumble and fell to my knees.

I simply could not faint here and forever be labelled in the eyes of Lord Stanton as a fainting peeping Tom.

Alas, as I made to stand my nerve left me, and I crumpled a little further. It was then I heard my name being called.

‘Catherine?’ It was my husband.

I looked up. I could feel my face pale as he strode towards me with wide, concerned steps. ‘What ails you?’ he asked softly, extending his hand and lifting me to my feet.

I mouthed something wordlessly at him, my shame made me mute.

The sounds of Lord Stanton and his maid continued.

I watched my husband’s face, as the slap of flesh on flesh carried through the closed door, and the maid’s whimpers reached his ears.

‘What is going on?’ he asked, his tone turning curt.

I wouldn’t reply. I simply couldn’t.

It was then Lord Stanton gave a loud final guttural cry as he took his release. My Lord husband’s face reddened.

‘This is not something a lady of your breeding should have to endure. We’re leaving,’ he snapped.

Without care, he pulled me by the arm, away from the door and down the stairs to the entrance hall where we were met by Lord Stanton’s butler.

‘Give Lord and Lady Stanton our regrets, and call our carriage,’ my husband growled, and with a polite nod, the butler immediately did as he was bid.

As we waited for the carriage to arrive, my husband’s grip tightened on my arm. ‘Why were you up there?’ he asked, his voice still gruff.

‘I …’ The paleness and fainting fit over, I felt my cheeks bloom with heat. ‘You know how I detest talk of hunting, so I went for a walk, I wanted to see the commissioned portrait on the second landing, and …’

My husband silenced me with a glare as our carriage rolled into view. The footmen helped me up, and shortly I was enclosed in the carriage with only my husband as comfort.

‘A lady such as yourself should not have to overhear things such as that …’ he began, his face grave.

What if a lady such as myself wants to overhear things such as that
? I asked silently.
Does it make me wanton? A whore in lady’s clothing?
The thought shocked me.

‘You are an innocent, Catherine. It is true testament to your gentle breeding that overhearing such actions sent you to into a fainting fit.’

I said nothing for a moment, as I reflected on what I had seen. My husband clasped my hand with his in a surprising gesture of reassurance.

‘My lord ...’ I said. ‘Joseph.’ I looked up into his dark eyes. His lips curled in a smile as I spoke his name.

‘Yes, Catherine?’ he replied, his hand holding mine a little tighter.

‘I didn’t just
hear
what happened. I
saw
some of it too.’

Would my confession shock him? Would it change his opinion of me?
I had to know.

I could see the lump in Joseph’s throat bob, and he hesitated a while before deigning to respond.

‘What did you see?’

Now I felt myself gulp, and I held his gaze a little longer. He was a handsome man, my Lord Joseph Bexley, and my drawers were soaked with the moisture that relations with my husband usually left behind.

‘I … I saw Lord Stanton and his maid …’

Joseph was silent, completely silent. ‘It does not do, Catherine, to belittle oneself by indulging in gossip.’ His rebuke was swift.

I looked away, and fondled a bead on the bust of my dress; sweat trickled between my bosom and I wrenched the window of the carriage open.

‘I am not indulging gossip, husband,’ I replied, as mildly as I could. ‘I saw things, I don’t understand and …’ I faded off.
I liked it
.

‘How was it that you
saw
, when the door was clearly closed?’ His voice was hardening.

I had the grace to blush. ‘I heard strange sounds as I perused the landing. It sounded like someone being hurt. I went to the door …’ I paused, ‘and I looked through the keyhole.’

‘And what you saw made you faint?’

‘It appears so,’ I agreed, though not for the reasons my husband expected.

‘You are a bedded wife, Catherine,’ Joseph’s voice was stiff, ‘not a maid. You know what acts take place within the marriage bed.’

I gazed up at him, my body tightening with the tension that never seemed to leave me. ‘Yes, of course I do, but Lord Stanton and the maid …’

My husband rubbed his chin with his long fingers. ‘If that was indeed Lord Stanton and his maid in the room, he has committed an unforgivable act in the eyes of God, a breach of vows to his wife and a shame upon his household.’

I nodded solemnly, ‘I understand that,’ I spoke softly, ‘It’s just that …’

My husband’s eyes narrowed, and the breeze through the window ruffled his black and grey hair. ‘Yes?’

‘The conjugal act that
we
partake in …’ I began with a heated blush. ‘Was not the act I witnessed at Stanton Hall.’

My husband’s jaw opened, and snapped closed. ‘Was it not?’ he asked, and rubbed his jaw again. He looked away and exhaled loudly. ‘Really, Catherine, this is an unseemly discussion to be having.’

I looked at my husband; he was clearly uncomfortable. I understood that, but the deep ache and longing between my legs made me bold.

‘I know, but I’m confused about what I saw.’ I pleaded ignorance. My husband surely would not deny his young wife answers.

He sighed, ‘Then just this once, be free with me and speak your mind.’

I smiled at him then, how easily he could be persuaded.

‘Thank you, husband.’

‘You are nineteen; I was a curious youngster once too.’ He smiled in return. This was all the encouragement I needed.

‘Well, Lord Stanton had his maid leaning over the couch and her skirts about her head. He smacked her bare rump as if she were a lazy donkey, except he called it
spanking.
’ My loins tightened at the memory.

I could hear Joseph gulp, his hand released mine. He moved in his seat, and drew his coat tails over his lap. Was he concealing a stiffening in his breeches?

‘Indeed?’ he replied, his voice sounding tight.

‘Yes, and then,’ my pulse raced a little faster, ‘he struck her with his member before mounting her like dog does a bitch,’ I finished breathlessly. My breasts were heaving beneath my tight bodice and I began to feel flustered. I could feel my husband’s eyes linger on my bosom for the briefest of moments. I reached over and rested my hand lightly on my husband’s thigh. His eyes flashed, and a muscle in his jaw leapt.

Dear diary, don’t think ill of me — but I wanted nothing more at that moment for my husband to lean over and kiss me, pull me over his lap and spank my bottom pink, before passionately mounting me and easing this wretched ache between my legs.

Yet he did no such thing. The silence in the carriage was deafening. He moved awkwardly again in his seat, and I hoped with all my heart that he may feel at least a little wretched as I did. I inched closer towards him and waited for him to say something, to do something.

I gazed upon his face, eagerly, I suppose, as his lips curled to form the words, or kisses I hoped for.

‘I do not think this topic bears talking about,’ he said, to my grave disappointment.

So there you have it, dear diary, the event I witnessed today has put me in a spin. I wait now, to see if my lord deigns to enter my rooms tonight.
Is he disgusted?
Does he think me a voyeur?
I do not know, for he has not spoken to me since our carriage ride home.

I have but only one consolation, dear diary. When he exited the carriage after our discussion, though his expression was dark, and his mood even darker, he was sporting a very hard cock in his breeches.

It is with a heavy heart and even heavier loins I write that my husband failed to come to my rooms last evening.

I had Hetty draw me a bath early and waited for several hours, but as my mantle clock chimed midnight, I realised he would not come. I cannot describe the frustrations that ride me; I want to feel my husband between my thighs so desperately there is scarce else I can think about.

As I lay in my empty bed, the images from Lord Stanton’s party raced through my head — the rosy buttocks and soaking quim of the maid, Lord Stanton’s raging staff. I found my own hand slipping betwixt my thighs. I knew I should not, but my fingers found that hot, moist place and the never-ending pulsing. I let my fingers roam and explore. I was wet down there, as I am so frequently these days. My hand glided through the tight curls that dressed my mons, and my fingers slipped between the wet mouth that hid beneath. I shuddered.

I was disappointed, however — at that precise moment a sound outside my rooms came to my attention. It was that of hushed voices.

Desperate to make sure no one came upon me shaming myself, I withdrew my hand quickly and dried it on sheets — then waited. The sound of voices continued.
Who would be up at this hour?
I wondered.

Dear diary, you may have noticed by now that I am curious by nature — a deficit in a lady’s character to be sure, but there you have it. I listened to the hushed voices for some time before curiosity got the better of me. I stole across my room, and opened the door. Beyond the open door, the voices were not so hushed, and indeed seemed rather agitated. I crept across the landing. Most staff were abed by now, and only the night footman stood at his post.

So, who was speaking, and in such an aggrieved manner?

I tiptoed across the landing and peeped over the ornately carved balustrade. The lights to my husband’s library were still shining, and it was from there the voices carried up to the landing, and my hearing.

To whom was he speaking?
I couldn’t help but wonder. We had no guests that I knew of, and my husband’s valet surely was abed at this sinful hour.

However, when the other voice spoke, I realised then that it was Mr Faulks.

Mr Faulks has been my husband’s man for more years than I have been alive. I have little doubt that Faulks knows more of my husband’s secrets than my husband does of his own.

‘My lord.’ Faulks’ voice was stern. ‘You’d best not worry upon it. Lady Catherine is a gentle young woman, and there’s naught you’ll ever do to change that.’

I am afraid, dear diary, I appear to be making a habit of eaves-dropping. I crept down a flight of stairs and huddled in the gloom of the corner at the bottom, so that I could over-hear the animated discussion a little clearer.

‘You don’t understand, Faulks.’ My husband’s voice was troubled. ‘She tempts me, in her own innocent way, to …’ he faded off for a moment and I could hear the rattling of the whisky decanter, and the sound of someone pouring a drink. ‘And when I heard her speaking of what she’d witnessed at Stanton Hall, I wanted nothing more than to …’ He stopped suddenly, then growled loudly. ‘I am a decent man, damn it.’

‘You are not your father, if that’s what’s a-fearing you, milord.’ Faulk’s voice was kind.

I tell you now, dear diary, I was utterly enthralled by this conversation. Joseph had never spoken about his father, the scandalous but late Lord Bexley. He had, by all accounts been a man of considerable ill-repute. A philanderer, gambler and notorious womaniser, I knew that my stiff and proper husband had worked hard to cleanse the Bexley name of his stain.

‘How can you be so certain, Faulks?’ My husband’s voice had taken on a peculiarly woeful note.

‘Never been more certain of anythin’ in my life, milord,’ Faulks replied. ‘You’re a good man, you are, don’t ever think different.’

‘I can barely stay away from her rooms, I want to be there every night. I want to …’

His words re-ignited my loins. He
did
want more than just our perfunctory nocturnal antics. I felt my body loosen with relief on hearing this admission.

His voice faded off, and the resumption of his speech was interrupted by Faulks’ bawdy laughter.

‘Any red-blooded man would want to be with her every night, milord. She’s a fine looking woman, if you don’t mind me sayin’.’

Faulks’ laughter faded off, and was met by my husband’s silence.

‘Go up there, go ease yourself on her. That’s what wives are for.’ I heard his glass clink down on the rosewood sideboard.

‘I am
not
an animal.’ I heard my husband growl in response. ‘My father had whores and wives aplenty, all because he couldn’t control his damnable desires. I will not repeat his fate by giving into my, my basal needs.’

‘Wanting to be with your wife doesn’t make you an animal, milord. It merely makes you a well-married man. You’re wrong to think otherwise.’ Faulks paused. ‘I could call Hetty to go and wake milady, if you do not wish to wake her yourself. Hetty could have her ready for you in a trice.’

Oh yes!
I thought with utter delight. I could hear my own heart pound with excitement, and I waited breathlessly for my husband’s response.

It was of course, not the response I had hoped for.

My husband’s voice carried towards the corner where I hid. ‘No. I will not have her woken and disrupt her sleep. She is a gentlewoman and needs her rest. Today has been trying on her sensitive nerves. Why, I found her almost in a faint after witnessing Stanton’s dirty antics. No, to wake her is not sporting or fair. Dear God in heaven, she might never recover from seeing what she did today. Women of gentle breeding can be damaged greatly by such things.’