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Giving a little help and getting a lot in return.

From there the decision was almost too easy to make to accept his offer of a stipend if I opened my legs to him whenever he called on me to do so.

A young widow who has been raised in the gentry and finds herself bereft of her honorable support has to do what she has to do. Life is cruel and a constant danger for such as I.

If that had been all there was to that, it would have been nothing special or unusual. But my wantonness inside the lord's household had already been established before that momentous carriage ride.

I have no idea what working of the humor of the gods had set Lord Thomas on me, but perhaps my having already been a tertiary figure in his vast household had set his ardor and determination in motion. I had barely met him before he assaulted me and made me a wanton woman, however.

The earlier connection had been Lady Emma. Less than a year after I learned of my husband's untimely death on the South African battlefield, I was introduced to Lady Emma, who was taking a tour of Italy, unaccompanied by her husband, and who needed a suitable traveling companion. A friend who knew of my plight recommended me to Lady Emma, and I found myself in Florence and then in Venice, and then, no doubt as a result of the exotic and sultry environment of the Italian phallus-shaped peninsula and all those suggestive statues of naked young men, writhing on a chaise lounge just inside a balcony on a Venetian canal with Lady Emma's head between my parted thighs and her tongue lapping between my labia and at my clitoris.

Again, my young, highly sexed Trevor had brought out needs and desires in me that had, in their sudden and prolonged denial, weakened my moral fiber and turned my head-and opened my legs upon clever and well-planned seduction.

Upon returning to England, Lady Emma had granted me a small stipend for the privilege of visiting me in my bedroom and disrobing and sharing a forbidden love with me that I increasingly took a full share in.

Thus, my dilemma when the invitation came for a weekend in the country at Lord Thomas's Caversham Park retreat to take in the Henley Regatta, the shell-boat racing on the Thames. If I had known that I was to be the only guest, I would not have come despite my cravings and fatal curiosities.

"Strawberry, Mrs. Wilson?" Lord Thomas asked, offering me the porcelain bowl filled with the reddest, ripest strawberry's I'd ever seen.

"Yes, thank you, My Lord," I responded with my eyes cast down. When I lifted them to take the strawberry, Lord Thomas held my hand for a few seconds longer than necessary in the exchange of a plump berry. Then, as I watched, he took one himself and worked it slowly between his lips in a sensuous movement that sent my heart palpitating. All the time his eyes were watching mine, and he was undressing me with them-as slowly as he disrobed me before laying with me on those few occasions when he wasn't in such high heat that he took me, like a dog, on the stairs to my bed chamber.

I turned and looked at Lady Emma, hoping beyond all hope that she was not seeing the possessing look Lord Thomas was giving me-but her eyes were on mine as well, and they had the same look of ownership and domination that her husband's had. Then she looked away and I also looked back at Lord Thomas.

He was holding a strawberry in his mouth and Emma turned her face to him. She brought her lips to his, and they lustily shared the fruit, the red pulp dripping down their chins. I cast my eyes down, not wishing to intrude on this intimate moment between husband and wife, and I saw that Thomas had pushed Emma's bodice off her breasts and he was cupping one of her pointed orbs in his hand.

I gave a little involuntary cry and lowered my eyes to my hands as they lay in my lap.

"Oh Constance.

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