Never Kiss a Toad

Chapter Nineteen, Part 2

Three long halls later, the sounds of cats and screaming fading behind them, a second footman opened the door to her private boudoir, and a reluctant Toad followed her inside. She ignored him for the moment, as she instructed the servants to lay down their burdens by a comfortable couch, then turned.

Toad sensed a trap.

"Truly, Comtesse, you needn't put yourself out on my account." He immediately regretted his phrasing, but to correct himself would only call attention.

"Not at all, my dear marquess. Do be seated so I can tend to the wounds you gained for my entertainment. And to rid me of many boorish guests." She grinned, wickedly, sliding a fingertip across the cheekbone that wasn't wounded. "We will see to these scratches and never mention how they came about, hmmm?"

"Er... I would appreciate the discretion, madame." The maid and footman stood to the side of the room, waiting to be dismissed.

"With the right inducements, Abersham, I can be very discreet."

Toad backed away, looking at the expanse of carpet between him and the doorway. She waved the servants out.

"Now, Abersham," she started as the room emptied, the door shut, and she turned the key. Sliding it into her corset, between her bountiful breasts, she purred, "Allow me to relieve your discomfort."

"I am not... er... that is to say... I am quite comfortable." He looked around for some alternate means of escape; even if he were willing to fish the key out of her bosom—which he was not; of course he was not—any footman outside the door might be instructed to stop him.

The comtesse was far too pretty and too exciting to be resisted. But resist he must. Had he not just vowed to remain faithful to Sal forevermore? How could he already be thinking of betraying her? His mother was right. He would be an execrable husband. He didn't deserve Sally Grenford.

"I will do my very best to make certain you remain oh, so comfortable, Abersham," she said, stalking him around the room. "For instance, I expect your life would be immeasurably more pleasant if word of your part in this escapade did not reach your Head of School or your parents. Now sit, monsieur le marquis, and tell me why you keep refusing me. Have I not made my interest clear?"

With no visible escape from the room or her blackmail, he finally sat in a chair across the room from her, rubbing a hand across his face.

"It is not...madame la comtesse, you are so lovely. So inexpressibly lovely," he sighed. "It is only... I am promised. Or may as well be. I do not wish to dishonour my future wife. A year ago, madame, I would have... well. But now I am... I am holding myself chaste for her." He flushed and dropped his head.

"The thought does you honour, Abersham. But if this almost-betrothed of yours knows nothing, where is the harm? I want to bed you, not marry you. I am no threat to her."

He blushed at the sentiment. He had never known a lady to speak so frankly, though he had told himself exactly that dozens of times before. But it didn't seem to work the same way now as it had at his last two schools.

"I have sworn my loyalty to her. My fealty." Besides, the comtesse would be sorely disappointed when Sir Frogmore would not perform as she wished, and he would be needlessly humiliated once more.

"You may give her your loyalty. I want your body, monsieur; she may keep the rest. A loan, if you will, until she is yours and you are hers. But I forget myself. You are wounded. Coat off, monsieur. Shirt, too. I will wash your wounds while we talk."

She knelt at his feet, a damp cloth ready in her hands. His eyes widened at the sight of her between his thighs. Sir Frogmore hadn't any problem appreciating her décolletage. Running a hand through his hair, he argued, straining not to jump up and away from her. "I have been hers since we were children. It was only recently we... we were parted."