Chapter 24
Annabelle
He leaves me in the antechamber of the church, and my blood runs cold.
That is not good enough.
To my shame, I fight back tears.
I tried to protect Alfred and, as far as Mr. Thompson was concerned, I succeeded. No one, I am sure, can touch Alfred when he is under my protection.
It will be a much more awkward state of affairs if Alfred refuses to speak to me.
When I consider that he may never consent to bed me again, a pain slices through me that leaves me breathless.
No, it cannot be. I will not allow it.
The humiliation alone when Mr. Thompson realizes that the man has refused me cannot be borne.
I still have power over Alfred. I could dismiss him. That would make his life much harder. It will be nearly impossible for him to get a new post with the rumors that will soon circulate about his time in Trescott—with me.
He is back at the vicarage by now.
I will go to him.
He needs to see reason. And I will force it upon him if necessary.
I leave the antechamber. I can hear Mr. Peabody still droning on.
I get into my carriage, brushing away the footman who tries to help me up, and command him to take me to the vicarage.
It does not matter if my carriage is seen there now.
In a matter of minutes, I am at the door.
I send the footman to request entrance. He comes back and tells me that the maidservant informed him that her master is not at home.
Ridiculous. He could be nowhere else.
I get out of the carriage, knowing that my behavior will only serve as evidence of the rumors soon to be flying around Trescott.
I rap on the door and the maidservant opens it, blushing.
“Ma’am,” she says, giving a curtesy.
“I must see Mr. Saintsbury.”
“He is not at home, ma’am. I am very sorry.”
“I know he is here.”
“He is indisposed, ma’am.”
“I do not care. Let me in.”
The girl cowers—and opens the door.
I have not been in the vicarage for years and I never saw the family rooms. But it does not matter. I navigate the place quickly.
I find the door to the study and push it open.
And there sits Alfred.
He is sitting on a sofa by the window.
“There you are. I have come to speak reason to you.”
He levels me with his green gaze.
“Have you?”
“Yes. You are being very disobedient.”
“And you’ve come to punish me?”
“If I must. You forget yourself, Alfred. I could still dismiss you from your post. And then what would become of you.”
He gives me a sullen look.
“Would you really do that?”
“Yes,” I say, not, in fact, at all certain of what I would do. “If you disobey me.”
“And what is it that you want from me, Annabelle?”
“For you to be reasonable.”
“What does reason look like in a case such as this one?”
“Accepting the reality of your situation. Our situation.”
I move towards him. I want him so badly my blood pounds and my head hurts.
“Which is?”
“That you belong to me and everyone is about to know it.”
“What if I don’t want to belong to you?”
“You have no choice,” I say. “I own you, don’t you see?”
As I say the words, I shrug off my mantle. I shuck off my boots.
“What are you doing?” he says, alarm rising in his voice.
“Showing you that I am right.”
I remove my petticoats and drawers and leave them on the floor. I could never remove my gown and undergarments without help—but I don’t need to. Once more I did not wear a crinoline.
“You mistreat me, Annabelle.”
“I told you not to trust me.”
“Can I trust you now?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I move towards him. I wonder if he will refuse my touch.
But he doesn’t.
I crawl onto his lap, straddling him. Up close, I can see the desire that burns behind his outrage and indignation.
“I am about to be a laughingstock,” he says. “A disgrace. My name will be ruined. My father will be furious. He will disown me”
“Perhaps,” I say. “Most likely. But isn’t it worth it? To have this?”
He is hard beneath me.
“It shouldn’t be,” he says.
I reach underneath my skirts and undo the placket of his trousers. I am rewarded with a sharp intake of breath.
And then I direct him inside of me.
“Annabelle,” he gasps.
“Isn’t this all that you care about, Alfred? Getting to feel me on your cock?”
I have my hands on his shoulders. Our eyes are locked. He looks completely at my mercy—and terrified.
“It shouldn’t be,” he repeats.
I rise up so his cock slides along my channel.
“But it is. None of your honor, your scruples, your years of good conduct, mean anything beside this, do they? You’d ruin yourself a thousand times for me, wouldn’t you?”
He drops his head on the back of the sofa, breaking our eye contact.
For a moment, I wonder if I have overplayed my hand.
And then he thrusts back into me.
“You feel too good,” he says, “for me to deny it.”
“You will do anything I ask, won’t you?”
I rise up again and he moans.
“What do you want?”
I ride him in long leisurely strokes.
“I want you to come and live with me. And be my whore. For all to see.”
“I can’t. My—my post.”
“You will keep your post. You will still be vicar. But you won’t live here anymore. You will live with me—at the Abbey.”
I hardly know what I am saying. All I know is that I need Alfred nearer to me.
I cannot go days without seeing him any longer—and now I don’t have to.
It would be a pointless sacrifice under the circumstances, when our relationship is about to be known in Trescott and in London. Across England perhaps.
“The scandal,” he gasps. “I can’t.”
“Say you will and I’ll let you come.”
He is close. It has been a week without release for him. He must be dying for it.
I roll my hips and he lets out a desperate sound.
“I shouldn’t agree.”
“I will let you come inside of me, Alfred. Don’t you want to fill me up with your seed?”
He lets out an agonized cry. “It isn’t safe.”
I push from my mind that, technically, this enticement is still part of my plan. For some reason, I don’t want to feel calculating in this moment. I don’t want to feel like I am deceiving him.
“That is not your concern,” I murmur. “You only need to worry about filling my pretty little cunt to the brim.”
“Annabelle,” he moans.
“Agree and I’ll let you do exactly that,” I press.
“I’ll be infamous.”
“You will be infamous if you stay in this vicarage. And this way, you can be infamous and have me morning, noon, and night.”
“I am ruined. You have ruined me.”
“Yes. I have.”
“And if I refuse?”
“You won’t refuse, Alfred.”
“If I do.”
I stop moving and reach down to touch his face.
I say the next words tenderly.
“Then you will lose your post. I will dismiss you. You will be out in the world, alone and defenseless. You have no choice, Alfred.”
He looks up at me, his expression completely open.
“What scares me is that I don’t want a choice.”
“Agree.”
I move up again. I am so wet. The slide of us together is so perfect, so sweet, that I find my own climax nearing.
“Yes,” he cries out, tears evident in his eyes. “Yes. I will do whatever you want, Annabelle.”
“Say you will come and live with me.”
“I will come and live with you.”
I roll myself up and down and up again—and he is crying out, filling me with his seed. I come then too.
And for a moment, all that has transpired this morning does not matter.
Because everything on earth is perfect.