Chapter 14
Ladybird, ladybird,
Fly away home,
Your house is on fire,
And your children are gone.
The nursery rhyme infiltrates my mind, and I want it to cease. Yet it’s relentless, as if the person is singing it to soothe me—or to make me forget.
My right arm throbs, and my mouth is parched.
‘Water,’ I croak.
The singing stops, and a figure emerges from a dark corner and sits on the side of the bed. My head is lifted, and a cup placed to my lips. The liquid that fills my mouth isn’t water, yet it tastes delicious, and I gulp it down.
After finishing, I’m lowered back to the pillow, and Dr Dryden comes into focus. My eyes rove over him, drinking in his handsome face greedily.
My master.
A strange and slightly painful prickling sensation rushes over my skin, making me gasp. Then it sinks through my flesh and courses through my entire body. I must have a fever—my veins are on fire! And why am I thinking of Dr Dryden as my master? How embarrassing. Thank God I didn’t say it out loud.
I catch sight of a cream bandage wound around my arm almost up to the elbow, which shocks me even further.
‘Wha-what happened?’ I attempt to sit up, and the room tilts alarmingly.
‘Hush now. Just lie still and rest,’ Dr Dryden says. His deep voice is silky smooth, and I’m comforted by the sound of it.
He presses me back into the pillow, and I sink willingly. There’s a brief touch of cool fingers on my hot skin as he smooths back a strand of hair from my forehead.
‘Why is my arm bandaged?’ I ask him, struggling to remember.
‘You had an accident, Florence.’ The way he says my name, like he’s savouring it on his tongue, makes me shiver. ‘In the kitchen. You were cutting slices of cheese for your supper, and the knife must have slipped. I found you on the floor ... bleeding.’
A hazy memory surfaces and then dissipates.
‘Bleeding? Oh.’ I lick my lips, tasting the remnants of the drink he gave me, and look at my arm. I wiggle my fingers. My hand still works, thank goodness. But I can feel the wound pulsating. I must have cut it very badly. ‘What a clumsy klutz. Did you look after me? Thank you.’
His wintry hand returns to my forehead, gently stroking, and it feels so blissfully refreshing that a small whimper escapes before I can stop it.
The corner of Dr Dryden’s mouth lifts slightly. He trails a finger down the side of my cheek and under my chin, tickling it like I’m a cat. A pleasant feeling pricks between my legs, causing my hips to squirm. I nuzzle into his hand, almost purring in pleasure, which shocks me. What am I doing?
‘You gave us quite a scare,’ he says softly, his thumb caressing my lower lip.
A strong urge to suck and bite his thumb arises, which I push aside immediately. What would he think?
I refocus on his face with difficulty.
‘Us?’
‘Yes, me and Charlie.’
Charlie was there? I try my hardest, but I can’t remember him at all. I’m so confused, and Dr Dryden lightly stroking along my jawline isn’t helping.
‘Did I meet him?’
‘Briefly.’ His voice is distracted and his eyes, now a darker shade of brown, are locked on my throat. He presses his fingers against my neck, feeling for my pulse.
He must be doing another health examination to determine how I am, I think. I must have lost a lot of blood from cutting myself ...
His cold fingers are now tracing the column of my throat and dancing lightly along the neckline of my chemise.
Oh!
Does he need to examine my chest? But the injury is on my arm ...
The feeling between my legs intensifies as his fingers slide underneath the material and then lower down, drawing small circles on the fleshy tops of my breasts. His fingers brush one of my nipples, and I moan softly, arching my back as a jolt of pleasure infuses my body.
Dr Dryden glances quickly at the door as if to reassure himself it’s closed and leans in closer. ‘Do you like that, Florence?’ he murmurs. His icy fingers flick gently at my hard nipple, and white lightning strikes between my thighs.
‘Oh yes, please keep doing it, Master,’ I say and groan in shame. What is the matter with me? I’m obviously not in my right mind due to blood loss. Aunt Ivy would be horrified. But Aunt Ivy isn’t here, and it feels so good ... I groan again as his hand reaches down to cup my breast.
‘Shall I stop?’ Dr Dryden enquires, fingers pausing.
I shake my head quickly. There’s an eyebrow arch of approval, and he quickly undoes the tie of my chemise.
I sigh as he pulls it down to expose my white breasts and rosy-pink buds.
He gazes in reverential silence, then begins gently kneading them in his glacial hands, pinching my stiff nipples between his fingers while I squirm in pleasure.
Dr Dryden’s face is impassive as he touches me, but I sense his excitement, taut like a wire within him.
‘You’re a very beautiful girl, Florence,’ he says, his voice wavering slightly, as he continues to toy with my tender peaks. My face is burning that I’m half naked and writhing under his watchful gaze. But I’m hot and yearning for his touch, and I can’t seem to control myself.
He’s making me lose my mind.
Moisture drips from between my thighs and soaks the bedsheets. My arousal scents the air, and his nostrils flare. I know he wants me like I want him—I can sense it keenly.
Desperately seeking relief, I rip my chemise down the middle so I’m completely naked, but I don’t care. I grab one of his large elegant hands off my breast and move it lower, towards my sex, shivering in anticipation.
He gives a low chuckle and says, ‘Naughty girl,’ but doesn’t pull away. Yet his hand, the one I’m currently guiding between my legs, trembles slightly. His eyes drop to my neck again, and he licks his lips.
‘Damn you, Charlie,’ he says softly. It’s so quiet I almost miss it, but my hearing has become surprisingly sensitive.
He must be having second thoughts about interfering with his son’s governess, but it’s a bit late for that.
I drive his hand between my legs and moan as his fingers stroke my wetness while his other hand runs over my breasts, tugging lightly on my nipples.
‘Yes, yes,’ I groan and undulate my hips to gain more friction from his stroking fingers. There’s an insatiable pulsing need between my thighs—and only he can relieve it.
But Dr Dryden suddenly stops stroking me and cups my entire sex firmly, as if to steel himself not to dip his fingers between my damp folds.
What is he doing? I fume. He needs to touch me properly.
Frustrated, I open my thighs wide and rub against his hand wantonly, seeking my pleasure and not caring a jot about propriety.
‘My master,’ I moan. ‘My lord.’
Suddenly, there’s a growl, a flash of white teeth, a whirl of a black jacket.
And I’m alone in the room, wild-eyed and unsatiated. I let out a mournful howl—loud enough to wake the dead.