Chapter Three #3
With a graceful sway, Eleanor made her way to the corner table, which was laden with a lavish display of expensive spirits.
Eleanor subtly removed a small glass vial she had secreted within the lining of her dress.
This little concoction wasn’t common knowledge, only someone with a healer’s knowledge of herbs and their potent properties could have brewed it.
This knowledge was a blend of herbal remedies and ancient practices, that she’d gained from an older, wiser witch who stubbornly clung to the Old Ways for healing, eschewing pure magic.
A shared peculiarity, as Eleanor had plenty of practice living without access to her full power.
It was an aspect of her training that had served Eleanor well throughout her many years and was probably the only reason she was still alive and hadn’t been discovered.
Like her magic, this concoction wasn’t something she relied on when working at The Ladies Grace.
It was reserved for the few nights when she really didn’t want to work, when all she really wanted was to be left alone and she didn’t want to be touched, or for those few aggressive clients.
To refuse a client was not an option, it’d result in Madam Grace calling the city guards to arrest her for her outstanding debt, and she was not being imprisoned, not again.
So, Eleanor had remembered some of the finer points of the Wise Witch’s teachings and used this concoction sparingly.
Eleanor kept her back to Lord Winterdon and the fireplace, blocking the spyhole in the painting, and forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand rather than the burgundy and amber coloured liquids in the other bottles.
Eleanor unstoppered the vial and upended the contents into a glass with swift and well-practised movements, while pouring sparkling wine into two glasses.
For a moment, the subtle pungent tinge of henbane hung in the air.
She replaced the vial in her dress lining and swirled the glasses as she made an exaggerated show of her stumbling and giggling, covering the need to encourage the powder to dissolve, and pressed the glass into his hands.
“What shall we drink to, my lord?”
“To new friends.”
She inclined her head in agreement. “Very well. To new friends,” she said as they clinked their glasses together. Eleanor knew it wouldn’t take long for the concoction to take effect, so she guided him to the edge of the bed and gently pushed on his shoulders to encourage him to sit.
The lord followed her silent instruction, a bit less gracefully than she’d have thought, but he didn’t spill his drink.
He rested his cane against the bed, out of the way but within reach.
Eleanor sat on his other side and leaned into him, as his eyes stared at where the straps of her dress ran along her breasts.
They sat in silence for a time until Lord Winterdon coughed.
“I’m going to get in trouble for this, but you seem nice. ”
She nearly choked on her wine and gave a little cough. “Are people not normally nice to you, my lord?”
“They are. But…” He sighed and made a small shrug.
“But…?” she prompted.
Eleanor was unsure why she was encouraging this conversation. He needed to drink the whole glass, otherwise her concoction wouldn’t entirely take effect, but she wanted to know where his line of thought was going.
“But…not everyone means what they say.”
“And you think I do?” she asked, attempting to mask the scepticism in her voice.
He looked at her intently this time, his gaze not lingering on her chest. “You’re nicer than others I’ve met.”
Eleanor smiled as warmly as she could manage. “Drink up, then you’ll see how much nicer I can be, my lord.”
He paused as he raised the glass to his mouth. “Could you think of something else to call me?”
“Oh?” She saw the unguarded expression on his face. For whatever reason, tonight he didn’t wish to be reminded of his position. “If we’re to be intimate, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…Riccie.”
His blue eyes lightened. “Riccie?”
“Why not?” Eleanor lifted a shoulder and sipped her wine, making Riccie lift his glass to his lips.
Nearly there. She watched as the bubbly liquid tilted in the glass and nearly touched his lips until he froze as something struck him and lowered his glass again. “I don’t know your name.”
Eleanor blinked. What did her name matter to him? She’d be damned if some of her regular clients actually knew her name, especially the first time they had sex. As long as she did her job, what did a name matter to them?
“You can call me whatever you wish, Riccie,” she said, but seeing the beginning of a protest on his lips, she interrupted him. “It’s Eleanor.”
“Eleanor,” he beamed with the same amusement in his lush eyes. “Norrie.”
She snorted into her glass. “Seriously? That’s what you come up with?” Eleanor wasn’t expecting to like this lord, but he was…growing on her.
“If I’m Riccie, you’re Norrie,” he said with a straight face.
There was no harm in his moniker for her, but she huffed, pretending to be put out by it, when in reality it was one of the nicest names she had ever been called. “Fine.”
As Riccie lifted the glass to his lips, she watched with intense focus, her eyes following the bubbly liquid's movement as it tilted and approached his mouth.
As he finished his drink, a peculiar and unfamiliar sensation, a pang of something she hadn't felt in quite some time, washed over her.
The shameful sensation sat heavily in her stomach, mixing with a sour feeling that tainted the taste of the wine itself.
The need for alcohol overrode Eleanor’s senses that she poured them both another sparkling wine, the bubbles tempting her despite her better judgement, this time not laced with anything.
Perched on the bed next to him, she leaned in, smiling. “Riccie.”
“Yeah,” he answered, tilting towards her.
“This is very fancy, you know,” she said, trailing her fingers up his lacy neckcloth and unwinding it slowly from its knot at his throat.
He swallowed as her fingers purposefully skimmed his skin. “You really think so?”
“Truly,” she whispered.
“Been…been trying to make a fashion of our own, you know,” he said, his voice croaked with nervousness. It confirmed her decision but didn’t make the souring taste in her mouth dissipate. “Thought…thought it’d make everyone see us as grown up, and it looked…looked good.”
“Would you like me to make you feel good, Riccie?” she whispered, letting his neckcloth trail down between them.
She knew the concoction was working when his erection was pushing through his trousers, and then his lush blue eyes grew glossy as he fought the light feelings, but it was futile.
Eleanor helped him to finish the wine and unbuttoned his trousers.
His erection sprang free, already glistening with anticipation.
As she straddled him, she gently directed his hand to his cock, the fabric of her dress draping over their entwined legs.
The vacant smile stretched across his face made him seem younger than his years, while his full-flushed cheeks, combined with his pale glazed-over eyes indicated that he was entirely oblivious to what was happening.
Eleanor often wondered what they were seeing, who they thought was riding their cock in this moment.
They’d never guess it was their own hand giving them such pleasure.
Conscious of the painting with its spyhole, which provided the walls with extra eyes and ears, Eleanor synchronised the rhythm of her movements to the pumping of his hand, deliberately exaggerating the noises and facial expressions that commonly accompanied sex.
Given the distance and angle, the unseen spectator would be unable to discern the subtle nuances of how her dress had been purposely gathered to obscure his cock, and she’d timed Riccie’s arm movement to suggest he was teasing her.
As Eleanor continued her display, Riccie’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He was close, so she increased her pace along with her moans and groans of pleasure and ecstasy. With a deep groan and a shudder, he came, spilling into his fancy neckcloth.
The hazy smile returned to his face, softening his features, his eyelids growing heavy as his breathing slowed to a gentle rhythm, a peaceful sigh escaping his lips. It wouldn’t take long, and he’d be asleep with a blissed grin on his face, dreaming of having a pleasurable evening.
Eleanor tucked the sticky neckcloth into his waistcoat pocket and got to her feet, making a show of adjusting her dress.
She poured herself a generous glass of the amber liquid and sat on the edge of the bed, sighing against the pleasurable burn in her throat.
Her glass was empty after two large swallows, so she helped herself to another while watching Riccie’s deflated cock twitch against his trousers with his dreams. At least he’d had a memorable night filled with pleasure, a stark contrast to the persistent, sour aftertaste that heavily weighed on her.
Unexpectedly, she found herself liking this man, a feeling quite contrary to what she'd initially predicted, and she mused that a simpler life might have allowed her to appreciate his kind and agreeable disposition sooner. When she felt like she’d sat long enough, Eleanor quietly slipped from the room, the heavy gilded door closing softly behind her.