The Lodestone by Charlene Keel

size and go rigid in her hand. Ah, she breathed. He was magnificent . She shivered with anticipation and her mouth actually watered. And not just for this unexpected treat—but for all the bounty that would be hers when she was his favorite. From the moment she’d heard about the cribbage game—and Young Sam had wasted no time telling the other servants what Lord Easton and his friends were talking about as they departed—Fanny meant to establish herself in the new master’s affections, as Jacqueline had done with the old.
    Nor was it a duty Fanny would mind in the least, for not only would she pleasure him. From the looks of him, she’d get her pleasure, too. And besides, it was her turn to lie in a featherbed of ease.
    **
    Drake had never seen anything so beautiful. Cleome was riding Epitome across the landscape in the distance, with the sun behind her. As he stood in a field of flowers, watching her, she turned her horse and rode directly towards him. He could feel himself go hard as he waited for her, and when she slid gracefully from the horse’s back and walked to him, he realized that she was naked. Her long auburn hair glinted in the sunlight and bounced against her smooth, white shoulders and then snaked downward to caress the creamy mounds of her breasts. The shield of her sex was the same glorious auburn color as the hair on her head, and she was holding her arms out to him, beckoning.
    She smiled into his eyes, her lips parting in invitation. When he reached for her, she slid down between his legs. He was surprised to realize that his own clothes had vanished, and even more surprised when she took him into her warm, wet mouth. Moving her tongue around him like lightning, she was bringing him quickly—too quickly—to the brink of madness. . .
    Drake woke with a start, just as his climax took him. As she moved her head away and finished him off with her hand, he opened his eyes to see that it wasn’t Cleome at all. He had been dreaming, and now he was throbbing, spilling his seed over the skeletal hand of the scrawny serving maid he’d sent for the brandy. In spite of his release, he felt sick. She pushed her stringy, whey-colored hair away from her face and smiled at him.
    “’Ow’d ye like that, then?” she asked with smug satisfaction. “And I know many more ways to please ye, sir. Just let me get this gown off and I’ll warm yer bed like it’s never been warmed afore.”
    “No,” he choked out. “Thank you. That will not be necessary.”
    Her disappointment showed in her hurt surprise, but he didn’t care. He was angry to be pulled out of his dream, angry that it was she who’d caressed him so intimately, and not her mistress.
    “Come now, sir,” she coaxed. “Would ‘e deny me my own pleasure, after the service I just gave? Come on, then; give me my due. And afterwards, ye can take me any way ye want to, sir. Any way at all.”
    “Dammit, woman! Are you deaf? I did not invite you to my bed, nor do I want you here.” He rose and turned away from her, pulling his breeches closed and tying the laces again. “Here,” he said, reaching into his saddlebag and withdrawing a gold sovereign. “Take this and go—and stay out of my room from now on, if you want to keep your post here. We’ll speak of this no more.”
    She glared at him, shaking with fury, but she knew better than to rebuke him. “I was only offerin’ a bit o’ comfort,” she whined. “Seemed to me you liked it right fine a moment ago—”
    “Get out!” he commanded, his voice deadly quiet, and she scurried to the door. As she closed it behind herself, he opened the other bottle of brandy. This time, he didn’t bother with the glass.
    The depths to which a man could sink when too long deprived of gratification of the flesh would never cease to amaze him.
    **
    Cleome tried to resist the worry that compounded in her mind moment by moment, but sleep would not take her. She knew it must be faced. A gambling debt was