Page 63 of Dick Stone, Regency Stud
Harriet regarded him dubiously, watching as he removed his cock from Calista’s clasp to make way for her.
“I think two should do nicely,” he said, snapping his index and middle fingers together to show what he meant.
“I am familiar with how to touch my lady,” groused Harriet, sliding her fingers in all the same while teasing Calista’s bump with her thumb.
When Edward pushed into Calista’s cunny alongside Harriet, he emitted a groan of pleasure. Her wrecked, slippery little cunt was suddenly a tight fit, and those digits working in tandem with him made his well-used cock find new life.
“It’s like two cocks in there,” he bit out, snapping his hips as he enjoyed the constriction.
“It most certainly is not,” said Harriet, moving faster, her trapped fingertips catching on his cockhead.
No, it certainly is not, he thought, relishing the feeling of taking a beautiful lady alongside her commanding lover.
Chapter 8
By the time Edwardstumbled down from Calista’s bedchamber five hours later, after many thorough attempts at breeding, his thighs shook from exertion, his shirt had a tear, and he had fewer strands of hair on his head than when he’d walked in.
No matter, cost of doing business, he thought, mentally calculating the handsome purse he’d receive when news of a pregnancy hit Netherwallop’s household. It hadn’t been his best showing as a stud, but it was a good outing if measured in sheer output.
It was when he made his way to the door and the butler didn’t appear with his hat and gloves that he had an inkling something was the matter. Perhaps the household devolved into chaos when Netherwallop departed; he could hardly blame the staff for rejoicing at their master’s long holiday.
And then he heard sniffles in a nearby corridor. A tweeny was cleaning a fireplace ineffectively while trying to wipe tears.
“Oh dear,” he said, offering her his handkerchief and taking the tools of her trade. “Should I get the housekeeper?”
This may not be his house, but he could certainly look after the help in the absence of his brother. And not just in the delivery of orgasms.
“She’ll be crying, too,” the girl got out between sobs.
He felt a wave of icy dread. What had caused the household staff such despair?
“Don’t tell me the Prince Regent is unwell? Or maybe the soufflé for supper failed to rise?” he asked, still hoping for a silly reason for all this pathos.
The girl looked at his face as if seeing him for the first time. “Oh dear,” she muttered, then burst into louder tears.
“Brenda, confine yourself to belowstairs,” said an authoritative voice behind him.
He remained silent, still facing the half-cleaned fireplace, unwilling to turn around and learn something that might alter the course of his life.
“Lord Edward.”
He relented and turned on his heel, a broad smile on his face. “I was just leaving and hoped to collect my things. Don’t be too hard on Brenda. It seems some soot got in her eye.”
Perhaps if he told a logical story about what had made the girl cry, they could all agree that it had happened just like that and allow him to leave this place unaware. This woman — likely the housekeeper — had the authority to make it so.
But of course, it could never be so simple as that.
“I’m sorry, Lord Edward,” the woman said, pity in her voice.
It turned his stomach. That was not just sadness, but pity for him specifically.
“What has occurred?” he asked, his mind flashing to dirty hair and a treasured mane.
“The viscount…” she started, then held a handkerchief to her face.
“My brother,” said Edward, his jaw tight as he sought to control his emotions. “What has happened to my brother?”
He knew before she said it. Recalled that Horatio had gone sailing to Brighton with his mistress. He pictured his fine tailoring and familiar body drifting through the water, unresponsive even as currents pulled him to the deep.
