The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 10

"By God, isn't that the truth!" He leaned against the gate pillar with an insolent swagger. "I'll wager it's all on the whim of Mr. Strachan --- if she were my bride to be, I'd be itching for my wedding night too." He nodded with a leer.

Through his agitation, Liam managed a grin of suitable male camaraderie. "I could do with a bit of that myself. Ah well...speaking of demanding masters, I'd best be getting this message delivered, before my master docks my wages." He patted his pocket. "Good luck with the wedding preparations. Thank you again for the directions."

He turned and headed in the direction the man had pointed. When he reached the Carlisle House he glanced back --- he was too far away to be seen in the dark from the Bourget gate. Continuing past the house, he went left at the corner, and quickly skirted round the block to the back of the Bourget property.

He saw that the rear gate was now open, and parked by the stable was the large, opulent carriage that had taken Anya away yesterday. No one was about. He slipped inside the gate and darted behind the broad trunk of an oak tree. Looking across the dark lawn, he got his bearings, and seeing no one round the side either, made a beeline for the house. He ducked into the neatly clipped shrubs that surrounded the stone foundation.

Staying low, he crept through the space between the shrubs and the stone, making his way towards the front of the mansion. Soon he encountered a tall window, and he crouched lower and peered in, the lights and open drapes allowing him to peruse the interior. It appeared to be a library --- all dark wood book shelves to the ceiling, richly upholstered chairs, and paintings in ornate gilded frames. Several men in fancy black evening suits and white shirt fronts stood about with crystal glasses or cigars in hand.

Liam kept moving. The next window --- indeed the next several windows it seemed --- looked into a ballroom. Here was where the action be. The enormous room was filled with people: more men in black suits, ladies in lavish gowns, servants in uniforms carrying platters laden with crystal stemmed glasses...champagne? Liam was staggered by the scale of the luxury: the room was a baroque wonder of spreading chandeliers, mosaic marble floors, carved moldings, and gilded wall coverings.

His eyes jumped to and fro, searching the crowd for her. Elizabeth Bourget he saw, conversing with some ladies. He noticed a group of musicians in one corner, and through the windows he could hear the odd music --- all string instruments, no pipes, no drum. Yet to it people were dancing...a sweeping, swaying dance...the waltz he'd guess. When the music flourished to its end, the men bowed and the women curtsied.

Suddenly he saw her! She was leaving the dance floor, her arm upon Strachan's. Now they were standing along the side; Strachan lifted a glass from a servant's tray and put it in her hand. Liam twisted in the shrubs, moving a branch to get closer to the window. He drank in the vision of her, his heart thudding, all the other people merely a hazy background. Anya! Anya Natasha love! So bonnie she be...his body ached for want of her. She was clad in a gown of an ethereal violet-blue, like the flame of a gas lamp. Unlike the other ladies' gowns, her neckline was sweetly modest, the draped fabric curving only below her collar bones, and extending to her shoulders upon either side, showing her slim, white arms. His eyes lovingly traced her alluring figure in the bodice: her ripe breasts, her tiny waist. The long skirt, with its multiple layers of gauzy fabric, hid her other charms. Her hair had been arranged in an exaggeratedly high, elaborate concoction, with a thick, loosely spiraled lock hanging down her back. Below the shining dark halo of her hair, her face seemed very small --- all pale skin and huge dark eyes. Her only embellishment be a black ribbon round her neck.

He studied her anxiously, confused anew by her enigmatic demeanor. Her eyes were unsettling: she did not appear unduly melancholy, although she certainly be not joyous. She held the glass Strachan had put into her hand without drinking from it, and she seemed stiff to the incessant touch of his hand upon her --- her arm, her hand, her back, her waist. But she responded graciously to the guests who were approaching Strachan and her --- the men to shake his hand and kiss hers, the women to admire her diamond ring, oversized and discordant upon her small hand.

When the next dance started, Strachan led her onto the floor. Liam watched jealously as he held her in his arms, sweeping her light graceful body over the floor, the train of her gown looped round her hand, the fairy-like fabric fluttering. He kept his eyes upon them as they moved among the other couples, sometimes seeing her face, sometimes his. He took the measure of his rival as he observed them. He be a man of average height, his body sturdy, powerful, animal-like in its movements. Whether or nay a lady would find him handsome, Liam could not say, but his eyes were intense, his features commanding. The desire now etched upon Strachan's face was unmistakable. But why was Anya looking up at him like that? Was that unreadable look the same that had met Liam's gaze before she admitted her love? Was she starting to fancy Strachan?!

For nigh two hours he watched, concealed in the shrubbery. Anya danced with a string of other men, then Strachan again, interspersed with conversations with her aunt and other ladies. He saw no lad that would be a fit for Nicholas. Gradually the crowd thinned out, couples taking their leave, carriage wheels rolling to life upon the cobblestone driveway. By and by the musicians were packing up their instruments, then 'twas only Anya, Strachan, her aunt, and a balding, slightly portly gentleman he took to be her uncle. A pair of maids with trays moved about the cavernous room, picking up glasses from tables.

Elizabeth and her husband were conversing, while Strachan stood before Anya holding her hand. He was saying something, his thumb adjusting the diamond ring upon her finger. Then his other hand lifted her chin, and to Liam's rage, he bent and kissed her cheek. She stepped back, her face without expression, and her mouth moved in an apparent "goodnight." She and her aunt left the ballroom. Craning his neck, Liam saw them cross a hallway and ascend a grand staircase. He pushed through the shrubs to get out onto the lawn, and looking up, presently saw lights come on in windows at the front corner of the house and in windows further towards the rear.

He got back into the shrubs and saw Strachan and Bourget stroll into the adjacent room --- the library he had seen initially. Liam moved back to its window. They were in there, both untying their bowties and opening their stiff collars. Bourget poured brandy into wide goblets. For some time they sat and talked, sipping their brandies. There was little of interest to see. Liam stood in the dark watching, debating his next course of action. Presently Bourget summoned a servant, and soon from the back of the house came the sounds of the horses and carriage. Some minutes later he heard them coming up the front drive. Liam crept along the side of house in the cover of the shrubs, peering round the corner in time to see Strachan and Bourget shake hands upon the front steps, and Strachan step into the carriage. Then with a clatter of hooves and wheels, he was gone too.

Liam waited another half hour or so in his hiding place. He must talk to her...he had to look into her eyes again and see the truth, if she loved him or nay. He had to find out when the wedding was to be...to tell her that he was fetching Nicholas...and that she need not marry Strachan.

He observed the lights go out here and there in the windows, till the house stood dark and looming, save for a few lights yet on in the second floor windows. Emerging from the shrubs he ran silently to the large oak tree he had noted yesterday at the front corner of the house, it's spreading boughs framing the stone façade. Doffing the ulster, he put his boots to the gnarled bark and leapt up to seize the lowest branch. 'Twas nothing for a lad used to climbing rigging: in less than a minute he had scaled the tree and crawled out along a thick bough close to the house. In the dim light, he made out below him the decorative stone ledge that ran beneath the second floor windows. He rolled over the branch to hang by his arms and legs, then let his feet drop to feel for the ledge. He was there!

The ledge was scarce more than a foot wide. He pressed himself close to the cold stone, and started inching sideways toward the front corner window. The light was now off...but nay it wasn't. When he reached it he saw the drapes were closed; a line of light traced round the edges. Checking both windows he could see naught inside. He backtracked, and shuffled his way aft past several darkened windows. Suddenly his boot slipped...he grabbed at the decorative window molding and managed to hold on. What the devil!? Shite, there were acorns upon the ledge! He slowed down and felt the stone under his boot with each step. Finally he reached the second group of lit windows.

Cautiously he leaned to peer into the window. The drapes were open. 'Twas a bedroom, as richly appointed as the other rooms he had seen. He saw no one. There be a fire burning in a mosaic tiled fireplace, a large canopied bed draped in gold brocade fabric, and Persian rugs upon the floor. He kept going, past a second window into the bedroom, and thence to a third lit window beyond. There were gauzy curtains pulled across the glass, but they were transparent enough for him to see inside. Oh there she be! Anya!

The room was a bathing chamber, and she clearly had just come out of the marble tub. She was facing away from the window, wrapped in linen towels, her hair completely up. A maid in a black dress and white cap and apron was standing behind her, gently drying her shoulders with another towel. Liam held fast to the window molding and watched, his eyes glowing, his body alive with warmth at the sight of her. Now the maid was holding open a long dressing gown behind her, shielding her --- Liam realized with disappointment --- as she dropped the towels from her body. Her arms went into the sleeves, and she pulled the wrapper shut in front, snugging the sash to her waist.

Liam noticed now that the curtains were not entirely closed; hungry for more he scooted carefully to the gap. Anya seemed distracted. The maid guided her to a round, cushioned tuffet before a tall, standing looking glass, over six feet high with a massive, intricately carved gilded frame. As she sat, he could see her, and her reflection at the same time. She was only a few feet from him on the other side of window. She sat pliant, her eyes distant, as the maid took down her hair, pin after pin coming out, and the thick, dark locks sagging down. He could see her little white toes peeping out from under the hem of the dressing gown. The diamond ring was no longer upon her finger, and he hoped 'twas not simply on account of her bath. The maid began brushing her long hair, smoothing it out over the short, cushioned back of the stool. Christ, was she never going to leave?

Presently Anya opened her mouth and said something to the maid. She halted her work and handed the brush to Anya, who responded to a question with a shake of her head and a small smile. The maid bent to gather up the towels, then bobbed a curtsey and left the chamber. At last! He slid over the adjacent bedroom window and assured himself that she indeed left the room. Then he was back at the curtain gap, his heart racing as he raised his hand to rap upon the glass pane.

He froze. There was a sound below him upon the ground. Voices. Two voices --- men's. Flattening himself against the window, he turned his head ever so slightly to look down over his shoulder. Through the branches of the tree he made out the shapes of two figures upon the lawn some twenty feet down.

"Any sign of activity around the back?" one asked in a harsh, working class voice.

"Naw. Nothing."

"Nothing front either."

"Why are we patrolling this place now?"

"I think the boss just wants to be sure his fiancée is safe."

"It's just a wedding...what's all the ruckus?"

"I don't know. Not our problem. Just follow orders... Here, you got one for me?"

Liam heard the strike of a match. How had be missed that there be guards patrolling the grounds?

The smell of tobacco smoke drifted upwards. Now they were discussing some sporting event they had witnessed. Move on ye bloody arses! He remained motionless, pressed against the glass, praying they did not look up and see his body silhouetted against the light. He stared through the gap in the curtains.

Anya was standing before the looking glass, but her eyes were faraway. She slowly stroked the brush over her hair. What a rare prize she be...radiant in her dressing gown. He had never seen the like: 'twas a gleaming jade color with elaborate patterns embroidered in threads of silver and copper. But to ken her fresh bare body be just underneath...he signed inwardly in frustration. As she brushed her hair, the shining fabric highlighted the jiggle of her unbound breasts.

She ceased her movement, and now seemed to see her reflection in the mirror. After a pause, she set down the brush, stepped to the door, opened it, and looked into the bedroom. Apparently reassured, she reclosed the door and --- locked it, he noted curiously. 'Twas the perfect opportunity to get her attention, but why wouldn't those two below him move the fuck on!

Anya stood before the huge mirror. Her hands slowly came up to the bodice of the robe and hesitantly pulled open the overlapped edges. Liam's breath stopped short; he watched transfixed as she tugged the fabric into a wider and wider vee till her breasts were completely bared. She stared at her reflection --- Liam stared at her reflection. In defiance of all sound logic --- his precarious position upon the ledge, the presence of Strachan's thugs below --- his cock started to grow in his trousers. Could her breasts be even more lovely than he remembered? Their full, swelling projection from her chest...the smooth white skin, her wee rosebud nips, shyly rising up from the small areolas. He could see that they were trembling with the faster pace of her breathing.

He watched agog as her fingers started to explore the sweet flesh...caressing very lightly and slowly over the globes, then over her nipples, just as lightly. She lingered here, strumming delicately over the hardening peaks. His organ be full erect now and pressed up against the glass. He saw the voluptuous glow in her eyes. Now she turned her hands and suddenly cupped her breasts, squeezing, lifting and bouncing them in her palms. A perfect fit for his large, workman's hands, the lush mounds overfilled her dainty hands.

The voices of the men below became a distant droning sound as Liam watched her enthralled, engorged, his palms upon the glass, his heart aching with love. Suddenly Anya dropped her hands to the sash and untied the bow...he smothered his gasp of joy as she pulled the robe full open. He could now see her lithe limbs, the delicate moss upon her mound, and the start of her nick. Anya! She contemplated her image for several moments, her chest rising and falling, her eyes excited. Then she reached for the brush; she stared at the silver backed object. She lowered her arm and began brushing the patch of her cunny hair, watching herself in the glass...Liam's adoring eyes fixed upon her...oh ye sweet lass!

Presently he realized that the brushing motion had changed...she was now tilting the brush a little sideways and wriggling it at the top of her notch. The bristles must be rubbing the base of her clitoris. She continued this for several minutes, her hips swaying, her eyelids heavy, her lips parting. Was she thinking on him? Then she stopped; impatiently pushing away the sash ties that swung in the way --- she seemed agitated with her passions; fretfully she put the brush aside and again contemplated her image. She grabbed the sash and Liam for a moment regretfully thought she was going to close the robe again. But no, she lifted it in her hand and considered it. 'Twas fashioned from the same fabric as the robe, an inch wide, and adorned at the ends with tassels of the copper thread.

Holding a tassel between her thumb and forefinger, she brought it up to her breast and stroked it over the end, the threads fanning out to conform to the roundness, then splaying round her erect rosy peak. Again and again she drew the tassel over her breast. She tried twirling it to make the heavy threads softly beat over her sensitive skin. To her mound she brought it next, stroking, twirling, dragging the bundle of threads through the beginning of her notch where she had rubbed the brush. She still seemed discontented.

Suddenly she appeared struck with an idea. She pulled the sash free of the loops upon the robe and held it up so that it hung straight down before her. Shifting one hand to grasp a tassel, she pressed her knuckles to her belly above her hair. She pushed her robe aside to slide her other hand behind her, shifting one foot to open her legs slightly. In the mirror, Liam all at once saw her hand appear between her thighs from behind, reach for the hanging end of the sash, and grab it. In a dawning of the most astounded, lewd understanding, he saw her intent. Between her hand in the front and her hand in the back, she pulled the band of green silk tight, snugly nestling it up in her split.

Her elbow was pushing the robe away from her, showing the curve of her waist and hip. From the front he could see her outer cunny lips bulging round the fabric. He was after thinking the vision could be no more superb, when she began to move her hands. Slowly she dragged the taut sash forward, the strip of fabric emerging from the groove. Then her hand behind her pulled it just as slowly back. Back and forth along her cunny she slid it. Her eyes in the mirror shone with bawdy pleasure. Gradually she increased the speed, her hand behind her knocking against the back of her robe. Her eyes closed and her head fell back --- he could imagine the soft panting sounds that must be issuing from her open mouth. In synchrony with her moving hands, he rubbed his straining trouser front against the glass. Christ, those idiots were still blabbering away! Why didn't they go back to their patrol? He could burst through the window, take her down onto that plush rug, and drive his throbbing tool into that agitated little cunny! He tried to picture how the sash looked dragging to and fro over her bud, her lips, and her bottom hole, the fabric growing wetter and wetter with the fluid welling up from her opening.

Anya seemed to have the same thought, for she suddenly sat upon the tuffet, and, holding the sash, raised her knees and opened her legs. The skirt of the robe fell completely aside. He could see her bent legs, her petite arched feet pointing at the mirror, and the glory of her aroused pink cunny. The rear end of the sash was trapped under bottom, and the front end was wrapped round her hand, and pulled tight. A beautiful green silk stripe stretched from between her buttocks to her mound, the fabric worked well up between her lips, which were turgid and spread round it. The nub of her clitoris was cupped by the fabric.

Her face was lit with excited curiosity as she spread her legs even wider and stared at her own beauties. She tugged upon the sash a little, then tilted it from left to right, twanging the taut fabric over her erect bud, making her hips squirm. Suddenly she dropped the end of the sash, stood and dragged the stool closer to the mirror, before resuming her position. Gazing at her now completely exposed cunny, her hand crept tentatively down, and her middle finger curiously palpated her swollen clitoris. With a wave of tender desire, Liam all at once understood that her fretful passion resulted from her shyness of touching herself with her own hand. But now that she had overcome that impediment, her exploration surged ahead.