In The Forest of the Night & Barmaid & The Blacksmith

Chapter Five-1

Chapter Five

“Miss Isabella,” The Frenchman’s disarming grin tried to warm my sullen disposition, but I wasn’t about to be so easily swayed from my disagreeable mood. I had no reason to be. After all, I’d been robbed of my passion, estranged from my lover, and I was not going to give my uncle the satisfaction of seeing me happy, at least not for a long while. I resented every look that came my way from Uncle Andrew; he was clearly monitoring my behavior. He knew his furtive glances annoyed me, but he obviously didn’t trust me after having caught me naked in William’s cabin.

I’m not sure what he thought I could do, now captive in my home and thrust constantly into the company of the terminally boring. He arranged all sorts of parties for me, and made certain I was invited to every social event in our county, as long as he had pre-approved the guest list.

I often wondered where my lover, William, had gone. He vanished without a trace, a sure testament to my uncle’s power in our isolated community. I prayed to see his face again, for a last conversation, for one final tender caress of his hand against my naked skin, or tender goodbye as his lips touched my cheek.

Looking at Monsieur Phillipe Gordot, I tried not finding the man attractive, though it was increasingly difficult. The term scoundrel came to mind whenever I saw him. But he was a handsome scoundrel.

“I deduce in you, Miss Isabella, a woman of breeding with a passionate fire raging inside.” He whispered to me as I stood in my Uncle’s drawing room after dinner trying to ignore his hovering over me. He had strangely shifty eyes and a delicious smirk on his face.

“You’re much too forward for English society, Monsieur Gordot,” I responded to his inappropriate remark.

“And you have proved my point,” he replied, happily. “No flinching. I’m impressed. The rumors must be true.”

“What rumors are those?” I asked.

“A scandalous liaison?” His gaze was positively wicked.

“You should never speculate about a lady’s past.”

“But am I right?” he pressed.

“It would be unwise for you to inquire more,” I told him bluntly, though I could not stop the naturally flirtatious smile that beamed across my face as I left his side.

He was a diversion at best; but could hardly compensate for my loss of William. I didn’t particularly care about my reputation, but my uncle was adamant that nothing be said to anyone that might dim my chances of becoming some man’s wife.

I’m sure that Uncle Andrew had no idea what a rogue this Frenchman was. I even detected a pleased expression on my uncle’s face when I talked to Phillipe. For my part, however, if I were to choose a man to love—and that was still not something I was ready to do, six months after William’s leaving—I’d consider a gentleman my age.

Adrian Mannerly was that young man, and he was not half as boring as the other young men I’d been introduced to. He was quite a stylish dresser wearing soft draping pants, white starched shirts and suspenders with his informal coats. He often wore a fashionable straw hat, that I found amusing, perched atop his short clipped brown hair. He was a man of the times, with connections in London, and prospects for a career there. He was just the kind of man I wanted.

The greatest trouble I had concerning Mr. Mannerly was wondering what he looked like naked. Such outrageous thoughts would pass through my mind as we spent time together talking or riding. He hadn’t even kissed me and I was wondering what it would be like to make love to him. I’m sure he’d be shocked by my experience, though I imagined he’d be delighted with my s****l prowess should we ever land together in bed.

In any event, as the months wore on, I gradually found myself looking forward to the next house party that would put me in Adrian’s company. And when, eight months after my terrible trial, at the beginning of the summer season, I took off for a second stay at my cousin Meg’s, I was delighted to find that he would be there. Away from my uncle’s watchful eye, there might be all sorts of things a modern woman might consider doing, even in this stodgy realm of England. It was certainly something to fantasize about, to take my mind away from my loss. Time, the season, and my desires seemed to be thawing my chilly mood.

The spring itself had brought a sudden surge of carnal appetite. I had been determined to make the trek to my private glade for a special moment with my body. But preparing for my trip, I didn’t have the time. Since William left, the excursions I made with my body to satisfy my lust were all within the confines of my bedroom, except for one . . .

One afternoon in the dead of winter, the stark appearance of the season played on me with such stirring discontent, that I restlessly marched from the big house to find some contentment in a walk through the sparse half frozen garden. It was hardly a joyous hike, but it was far better than remaining in the gloomy interior of the old stone house. As I made my way toward the back of the property, I found myself drawn toward the caretaker’s cabin. I hadn’t been there since that awful day months before, though I could recall it as if it had happened only days ago.

I was surprised to find the cabin unlocked. I would have thought my uncle would have boarded it up and locked it tight. But perhaps just having William Sage banished from the estate was enough for him.

When I entered, I found it looking much like it did when William was living there. He’d lived a Spartan life, without much need for frills, vases of flowers, or decorations. Though when I glanced at the kitchen counter, there was a pot I remembered well for the many times I’d brought my lover wildflowers. It sat on the counter, empty, as if it was waiting for me to fill it again.

The bed was still in corner of the one room cabin. And I was instantly drawn to it, recalling that lusty moment when I reclined on it naked as the day I was born, posing like a brothel w***e. I smiled thinking of it. It was the first smile I’d had in a long time.

I sat down on the bed and closed my eyes thinking of William’s face looking down on me. His impressive visage and hard muscled body were as clear to me as if he was actually standing in front of me, and my eyes were wide open and staring at his manly form. I pressed my hand to my crotch thinking of him descending on me with an erect c**k ready to enter my womanly home. Falling back on the downy comfort of the bed, my hand reached up under my skirt and inside my drawers to that sumptuous place of mellow warmth and moist flesh.

I thought of making love to William as I played with myself. I imagined it was his hands touching me, his hands in all their rude and gentle ways raising the sensations of lust to ungodly heights, only to bring me crashing, or softly floating down to a blissful well satisfied body peace.

The orgasm that claimed me this time was brisk, and by the time I was finished, my heart was aching so that my tears were mixed with the spasms of pleasure.

I fled the cabin, vowing never to return. I would not face that grief again.

***

Arriving at my Cousin Meg’s, I was immediately disappointed to find that Adrian Mannerly would not arrive for another few days. Meg had planned a long house party with several gentlemen and young women there to enjoy the terrific equestrian pleasures of her family’s vast estate. Meg’s parents were so involved with their own pursuits that they left their daughter to her independence, doing little to supervise Meg or her guests. They were happy when she was happy, and that was all that mattered.

Meg was so much a part of the upper crust of English society that many of her relatives dined with royalty and moved in those illustrious circles. Meg was a little more down to earth than that, and I was promised that this house party would be more casual fun, than filled with long nights listening to tedious classical music played by aspiring pianists and sung by the irritating voices of some young singer.

Despite Adrian’s absence, I decided to be more charming on this visit. After all, it was late spring and the days were absolutely heavenly with the fragrance of flowers and the sounds of happy birds. My first invitation to ride came from Monsieur Gordot, who I’d not seen since he’d been in my home many weeks before.

“We should go riding in the morning. The day will be glorious, I can tell,” he said to me. His eyes sparkled with the same wicked light that I’d become accustomed to with the charming Frenchman.

“Yes,” I agreed to his suggestion. I may not completely trust the man, but riding with him for a few morning hours certainly couldn’t hurt. In fact, it could be an enjoyable adventure.

That next morning, we ventured out on two fine animals; mine was Cleo, a mare I’d ridden often when I was at Meg’s. I liked her nearly as much as I did my own horse at home. I was familiar with the countryside around Meg Stewart’s estate, and found that showing the Frenchman my favorite trails was almost pleasant, even if I was still determined not to be too pleasured in my life. A half hour away from the stables, we stopped by a stream to water the animals and to stretch our legs.

“So, Miss Isabella, have you thought about our conversation the last time we talked?”

“I’m not sure I remember what you’re speaking of,” I said. I knew exactly what he was talking about, but I’d never admit it.

“About that lusty fire inside you, my dear,” he reminded me.

When he talked to me, even in this wide open air, he was always very close. Though we were alone and there was no one to hear us, his head was still bowed over my shoulder, his voice breathless, and his body seeming to pulse next to mine.

“I thought I told you that the facts of a woman’s virtue, or lack of it, were a private matter,” I reminded him.

“But we are in a private place, miss. And I’m dying to know if you’ve really been schooled in the fine art of experiencing this inner fire.”

I walked away from his attentive presence, and turning, stared squarely at him from a couple of feet off. “What would it matter to you?” I asked. “I would never give my affections away easily.”

“And I would not want you to. No. I find your virtue worthy of respect.”

“So you respect me?”

“Mais oui.”

He bridged the distance between us once again, coming so very close to me that I could easily detect the scent of his morning coffee on his breath.

He took my hand and then brought his mouth down to mine. It was a bold kiss for a first one, and I did nothing to stop it for several seconds, until I got my wits about me and backed away.

“Sir!” I was not half as shocked as I was befuddled. The instantaneous response between my legs jarred me. I immediately thought of him planting his p***s there, and I shuddered. I could tell by his face that he detected my arousal, and that worried me. I wasn’t ready to throw myself shamelessly at any man, but the truth was, after having experienced many s****l moments with Will, I now felt denied the pleasure that I knew my body deserved.

“Perhaps I should knock at your door, tonight at mid-night?” he proposed.

“And you’ll wake me, because I’ll be fast asleep then.”

“Then you’ll give me your key, and I’ll slip into bed beside you,” he offered again.

“Phillipe!” I exclaimed, as if I was shocked by the idea. Perhaps I was shocked, but I certainly wasn’t offended, even though I should have been.

The Frenchman’s eyes sparkled wickedly, as he watched my chest heaving. My heart raced, my breathing was shallow. It was very immodest, giving myself away like this.

“I pledge myself to you, Isabella. You have my fullest attention. I’m profoundly enamored with your fine graceful bearing and your gentle wit. I don’t mean to offend you by my forward remarks.” Such a formal gesture of gentlemanly honor. It was a little silly coming from him, though he was certainly pretending to be sincere.