The Virgin at Goodrich Hall (2 page)

Her words played over in Margaret’s brain for a moment, reassuring her in many ways. She would be safe here. She nodded. “I understand.”

The woman smiled. “I am Anna. It is up to you if you use your real name or another, but you will be asked. Have you chosen one?”

Margaret had not, though as a child she’d always wished to be called Maggie. If her presence was safe, giving a name short for her own, yet not one she had ever been called, should be harmless. “Maggie. I would like to be called Maggie.”

Anna nodded. “Well, Maggie, you are more than welcome to wear these,” she said, holding up the red silk.

Maggie, now thinking of herself as such instead of Margaret, hesitated. It did not escape Anna’s notice.

“I understand your uncertainty but, please, trust me, Maggie. You will be more out of place in your gown.”

* * * *

Belfort Park, Country Estate of Lord and Lady Belfort

Damon could not help but look in awe at his wife, ignoring the food before him. He could scarcely believe the physician had spoken the truth the week before, when he had confirmed Claire was carrying Damon’s babe. As a man who had been given the gift of this woman’s love, he had not thought he could find any more joy. Yet he had.

“The evening post, my Lord.”

Damon dragged his eyes away at his butler’s soft words. He nodded and took several letters from the silver tray. Sifting through them, noting many were of business and could wait, he came upon one for Claire and smiled.

“Margaret has written,” he said, and was pleased to see his wife’s attention instantly snap to him. Her beaming smile dazzled him as she reached out urgently for the letter, tugging it from his clutches. He chuckled lightly.

As she ripped open the wax seal, he couldn’t help but be thankful for Margaret’s presence in his wife’s life. After all, she was the reason Damon and Claire had first met, whether she knew it or not. Her encouragement for Claire to seek out pleasure had been the reason he was now so happy and expecting his first child. He owed her much.

He proceeded to return to his meal, but his wife’s gasp quickly drew his attention back. Claire sat slumped in her chair, her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide as she read. He instantly went to her side. His chair fell to the floor with a sudden clank from the force of his movement, and a footman rushed forward to right it as Damon knelt by her.

“What is it?”

Claire read the letter again before she turned to face him, worry now clear in her features. “We must go to London at once.” She cast a look at the butler, who stood close by. “Arrange the carriage. I will be departing as soon as it is ready.”

“You are not going anywhere,” Damon snapped, halting the butler’s retreat.

“Damon! I am going! You can come, but do not try to stop me!” she said, waving the letter in his face.

Sensing her determination, Damon took the letter from her hand and scanned it. His expression turned from annoyance to understanding.

“She could be ruined,” Claire whispered.

He looked up into his wife’s stricken eyes. She would not be calmed until she had seen Margaret—he knew that. “We will go—but in the morning, at first light,” he added, more loudly, and nodded to his butler, who hurried out with as much grace as any butler could muster, no doubt to make arrangements. “Nothing will come of us leaving in the dark of night. We will leave when it is safe.”

“But—”

He cut Claire off with a simple kiss upon her lovely lips.

His wife narrowed her eyes at him, but sighed and snuggled into his tight embrace. While Damon had never attended Goodrich Hall, he had heard of it and knew what went on there. He was familiar with several who attended regularly, some friends and others not. He simply hoped the right man chose Margaret tonight. Damon would not tell his wife, but he had heard the ball was set for this eve. He hoped Margaret knew what she was in for.

* * * *

Running her hand along the smoothness of the red silk, Maggie took a deep breath, trying to forget that little covered her skin but a thin layer of fabric. It felt far different from the heavy layers she was accustomed to.

“You look perfect.”

Maggie looked up. Anna stood there, her eyes roaming the length of Maggie’s body, leaving her skin heated yet untouched. Or, at least, that was how it seemed.

Once Anna’s eyes had moved back to Maggie’s face, the woman grinned. “You will see many things tonight you will never have thought possible or pleasurable, though let me assure you—they are. Do not feel you must participate, though you are welcome to do so, if you wish. Am I wrong to assume you are a maiden?”

Maggie blushed slightly at the bold question, but nodded. “I am.”

“Do you wish to remain so?”

What a question! She felt stricken for a moment. Did she want to experience the pleasure of a man’s touch? Certainly, yet she still wished to remain pure, as her gift to the man she married. Was that possible?

“I believe so, yes.”

Anna’s lips lifted slightly, as if the words had pleased her in some way. “Do not fret. That will be fine.”

Anna opened the door through which they had entered and moved into the large foyer once more. Maggie followed with a gentle swish of the fabric between her legs. Never before had she worn clothes between her thighs, but the rubbing sensation was somewhat pleasurable.

Anna moved to a table, one that displayed different coloured strings of beads in ceramic jars. She picked up a strand of black beads and moved towards Maggie, then placed them over Maggie’s head and rested them around her bare neck. As the gentle weight settled, Maggie felt the light touch of Anna’s hands in her hair. Anna moved closer, aligning her body with Maggie’s.

“We use the beads as a code of sorts,” Anna whispered in her ear, the warm breath caressing Maggie’s skin. “These indicate you are pure and wish to remain so.”

Maggie looked into the woman’s eyes, and the green reminded her of the spring fields on her parents’ country estate. Anna trailed her fingers along the beads, which rested between the softness of Maggie’s breasts. A slight gasp hissed out of Maggie as she felt the woman’s thumb slide down the fabric surrounding her bosom.

Anna watched her carefully as a moan slid from Maggie’s lips. Maggie leaned into the soft touch, wishing for something firmer, stronger. Anna obliged, grasping the meaty flesh, squeezing gently before she leant forward.

Maggie had never been kissed before. Not on the lips, certainly, and as Anna’s soft ones came down upon her own she could do nothing but marvel in the shock of the feeling, in the pleasure she experienced from it. The sweetness of Anna’s mouth as she tenderly brushed it over Maggie’s brought a smile to her face, until she realised she was kissing a woman. A woman!

Anna lifted her head slightly, seeming unsurprised by Maggie’s reaction, her tender smile appearing unoffended, while Maggie, on the other hand, was very confused. She was a woman, so was she not supposed to feel desire for a man, not for another woman?

“Do not fret. There is nothing wrong with us experiencing pleasure,” Anna said as she traced a finger delicately over Maggie’s moist lips.

Maggie nodded, unsure of what to say.

“It is time, now, for you to find what you crave. You will not be judged here, so try not to judge anyone else,” Anna said, finally dropping her hand. Maggie grieved for the loss.

Anna led her towards a large set of doors. A footman stepped out of the shadows and Maggie could not help but blush. He had witnessed her and Anna kissing! Though she was expecting to feel shame, strangely, she did not. Elation and confidence surged through her veins.
How odd.

Chapter Two

Nursing the Scotch in the palm of his hand, Victor swirled the glass with a gentle flick of his wrist, and the ice tinkled softly against the expensive crystal. Those around him chatted, appearing content simply to catch up on the events of the past month. He, however, did not care for idle gossip. He came here for two simple reasons—frivolity and anonymity. Even without the use of a mask to shield his identity, Victor knew his name would never be whispered in association with Goodrich Hall.

Impatient for things to move along, he glanced around the room for Lady Anna. She and her husband were always sure to get the small crowd focused, though tonight Anna appeared to be frustratingly absent. He knew that not to be the case—she had received him when he had arrived—yet her presence was now unknown.

Victor glanced towards her husband, Lord Richard, or Dicky, as he preferred to be known to his peers. He chatted with several of the couples around him, laughing and appearing in his usual high spirits. Victor had to admit, he held some envy towards the man. Dicky had married a woman whom he appeared to love with his whole heart, and, like Dicky, Anna had a taste for experiencing as many of life’s pleasures as she could, namely of a sexual nature. Those women were rare indeed.

Victor did not love Anna—or any woman, for that matter—but it would be nice to be truly oneself with a wife. Not that he had one, but, as his three-and-thirtieth birthday approached, he knew it was time to acknowledge the need for an heir. It was his duty, after all. He sighed as he nursed his drink. It was something his mother reminded him of daily. Why she could not be content with her teas and shopping was beyond him. He would never choose a woman as demanding as his father had. No, his wife would be chosen for her ability to bring him pleasure, though that would be a trifle difficult, as he had no desire to wed any woman who was not still a maiden. Truly a quandary.

Glancing around the room, Victor noted many women he had bedded before. In truth, he had bedded them all at least once, and all preferred different things. Lady Ashley liked a man who would dominate her—understandable, considering her old, serene husband. She grinned at him once she noticed his perusal, turning to face him, her delicate figure displayed favourably in the soft candlelight. He nodded his head once in acknowledgement and moved on. No, she was not what he sought tonight. Not even close.

Lady Siebel stood on the other side of the room, laughing lightly at something one of the men had said. She was a different minx altogether. She was a woman who, while appearing frail and genteel, was nothing of the sort. Pain was this woman’s pleasure—inflicting it as well as receiving it. Victor moved past her with haste.

Several other women had graced Goodrich Hall with their presence tonight. A good twenty souls of both sexes filled the grand room, chatting, smoking and drinking with their peers. Victor loved the idea of this club or society, if one wished to call it as such. All in attendance were loyal and relished the secrecy. The pleasure to be had was certainly worth the risk of attending.

Movement by the door caught his eye and Victor glanced over, pleased to see Anna had finally graced them with her presence. She would be sure to move things along soon. Victor had never found her to be a woman who liked to draw things out for long.

As Anna turned and spoke, he realised she was not alone. A woman, masked and dressed in deep red silks, silks Victor knew to be Anna’s, listened intently.

Victor allowed his gaze to wander over the new arrival. She was young, but not so young he would have thought her a child.
Sophisticated,
was his first thought. A rarity for the girls who had been turned out of late or so it had seemed. He noted how she wrung her hands together in front of herself. She was nervous. His lips lifted in an amused smile. Of course she was. This was not a place for a delicate or easily frightened woman to roam. It was a place of carnal delight.

Newcomers were rarely introduced. Those who attended Goodrich Hall were forbidden from talking about the dealings that transpired within its walls, though Anna and Dicky did induct new blood from time to time. He wondered whether this woman was a similar inductee. Anna’s desires strayed from men alone. Did this woman have similar tastes
? Oh, how divine that would be to watch.

For the first time that evening, his cock stirred in his breeches. It hardened at his thoughts. Oh, how he enjoyed a break from the mundane, and this woman would be a treat.

Anna continued to talk—presumably filling her in on the rules, though they had few—as she took two glasses of wine from a passing footman. The woman raised a small, demure hand to retrieve the glass from Anna’s. It was only then, as she turned to scan the room, that Victor noticed the beads.

Black beads. A virgin!

Mentally, he took a step back. No, he was not a tempter of innocents. He never had been, and dared not start now, though, he had to admit, her presence intrigued him. Never before had he seen that colour bead worn before. Why would a virgin wish to be involved with those at Goodrich Hall?

The beads were a staple among the guests. By not wearing any beads, one signified one was open to all. Only Anna and Dicky wore no beads around their necks. The colours signified different things. Red indicated a need to be dominated by another. Lady Siebel wore red tonight, along with a set of silver ones. Group fetish, a need to be taken by many, men or women, in any way they deemed fit. Judging by the combination of both beads, she sought both at once. Victor had no doubt the woman would not go wanting tonight. He had already seen many men eyeing her with interest.

Victor’s attention returned to the virginal lady. She
was
a lady, to be sure. Her posture and the manner in which she stood there convinced him of the fact.

It was only as Dicky removed his cravat and jacket before moving into the centre of the room that Victor realised his desire for the evening to commence would not be starved for long.

He looked back towards the woman in the red silk, watched how she clenched the glass in her hand. He also noticed how all the other men in the room slowly moved a step in the other direction. Yes, they were here for sex. Sex without bounds and a need for decorum. Yet here stood a woman who wanted to be involved, but not lose her innocence. What man was stupid enough to endure such an undertaking? What man in his right mind would choose this night to show a maiden pleasure, neglecting his own, when he could choose otherwise and be filled with pleasure of the highest order?