Page 14 of Kept 2
Even as I write this, I wish to tear the quill from my hand in shame and beat my chest and write no more, and yet, I must.
When her maids had left the room, the lady turned her back to me and bade me drink the wine she had poured, before undoing her laces.
I gulped the wine with haste. It was not a taste I was familiar with, and yet not unpleasant. I turned then and unlaced her with firm hands, my desire for her growing with each moment. Her tinkling laugh, which I had once found so sinister, sounded like music to me as it echoed around the room.
“Long have I desired you in my bed, Nicholas Montague,” she said, as she turned to me, her gown falling from her shoulders and exposing her pale breasts.
I have no idea what overcame me, some devilish spell I would blame if I could. But I fear it was simply my own weakness, and I fell into her bosoms like a man starving and, lifting her into my arms verily threw her onto the bed, pushing her skirts aside.
But she stalled me with a commanding voice.
“I will Keep you, Nicholas Montague,” she said, her voice deep and unlike I had ever heard it before.
I nodded, my member throbbing with need for her, while at the same time part of me reviling myself for such depravity, and yet I was powerless to stop.
“Say the words,” she said, holding my face in her hands and staring into my eyes, “say you agree to be Kept.”
I was confused for a moment, her words seemed to hold some other meaning that I could not discern, yet I was so overcome with both my need for her and my warring desire to simply get this night over and done with, that I said the words.
She laughed then and wrapped her legs firmly around my torso and raised her hips as I entered her like a madman. The pleasure was such that I could not contain myself and she laughed all the harder and commanded me to release my seed, adding that we had all night for her pleasure, and she was in no hurry. I confess, at her command, I did so.
In my naivety, I thought perhaps my haste would work in my favour, that she would think me a ‘quick tip’ and have no further wish to bed me. But I was wrong. That night she had me perform such acts upon her person as no whore could ever devise, such wanton acts of debauchery and filth that even as I write this, my face suffuses with colour, for I feel both shame and a remembrance of desire, and the latter I hate myself for.
Later, just before dawn, she ordered me to rise and leave her chambers, and to return the following night.
“I will not do so, lady,” I murmured, frowning as I found my torn shirt and discarded breeches on the floor and pulled them on gingerly, the scratch marks on my back stinging painfully and a bite mark on my neck smarting. “The king asked me to pleasure you, and this I have done. But I did so with a heavy conscience and no desire on my own part, and do not wish to do so again.”
“Ah, Nicky. You will pleasure me for many, many years to come,” she laughed then, stretching naked on the bed, her legs spread for me to view every inch of her, “for you are Kept – you have sipped from me, and I from you – the pact is sealed.”
“I do not know what you mean, but you shall not have me, lady.”
“Indeed, I have, and I will,” she giggled, “do not pretend you do not want me as I want you.”
“I do not.”
“Nicky, Nicky,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she rose from the bed faster than any mortal should have been able to, “if it is riches you desire, as I know your dear mother and father most assuredly do, then riches you shall have. If it is pleasure you crave, then surely I have given you such as you have never experienced in your short life, and if it is status you yearn for, then this too I can give you aplenty.”
“I desire none of these things, lady,” I bowed low to her and stalked towards the door, but she was there before me, her back to it, her speed, once more, beyond measure.
“What is it then, that would see you turn your back on me? What do you want, Nicholas Montague?”
“I want to return to Ereston,” I said quietly, “to the woman I love.”
She looked at me then, her eyes narrowed, and for a second I confess, I was frightened of this small woman, such was the glint in her eye.
“Love,” she laughed harshly, “what foolishness is this? There is no love in the life of a Lord.”
“I am not a Lord,” I said, my hand reaching behind her to grasp the door handle, “my father still holds that title.”
“For the moment,” she smirked.
“I have no desire to hold the reins of an indebted estate at this point, lady,” I sneered as I said the last word, I confess, but I grew tired of this charade, “and I have no desire to bed you again. I wish to leave.”
She moved aside from the door then, and I left, but I felt her eyes on my back.
It is going on evening now.
I have undertaken my duties this day, and I am now holed up in my suite to record all that has occurred this past 24 hours. I confess I fear, with every tread down the hallway, that I will be summoned once more to that woman’s rooms. And it is this fear which compels me to write, to record faithfully for Constance every detail, that she should never fear that passion overtook my love for her, or that the evening was anything other than a trial.
