Thea Devine - Captivated

"You are insatiable, my queen. I can but hear and obey," he called back to her, rising from his place by Zenaida's side.

"Then you will remain?" the High Procuress said softly to him.

Dagon's blue eyes were fastened on Kalida. Kalida, his beautiful mate, his queen, his lover. He had never known anyone quite like her. Strong, brave, intelligent, yet vulnerable. She needed him.He needed her! "I will stay," he said to Zenaida, and then hurried down the steps from the royal box, running across the arena to catch Kalida up in a passionate embrace. Then, together, a smiling queen and her happy consort departed the arena.

"Well, well, my dear," Vernus said to his sister-in-law, "what a day this has been, has it not? And what will happen next, I wonder?"

Zenaida tucked her arm into his. "We are witnessing the beginning of a new era, Vernus. Suneva only knows what will happen."

"Indeed," Vernus said dryly. "You are asking me to supper, my dear, aren't you? If you do, I shall tell you, and Durantis,but of course it is for your ears alone, the delicious naughtiness the queen and Dagon have been up to these past few days. They brought that charming young blond gardener, Adon is his name, my dear, into their midst to partake in the royal orgy, and he told me…" Vernus dropped his voice as they exited the royal box and walked across the arena.

"No!" Zenaida was heard to exclaim at one point, but she sounded more titillated than shocked by what she was being told."Are you sure?"

"Adon, the dear boy, relies on me," Vernus said smugly. "Now come along, sister. My brother, Durantis, will want to hear it all."

And arm in arm they walked together through the temple proper, and out into the main square of Kava, where the celebrations were already beginning to usher in this new will of the goddess that would change their lives, and certainly the destiny of Kava, forever.

LondonMay, 1889

"I'm leaving town today."

"And brave your sister's wrath?" Lord Akers glanced across the billiard table, his sceptical gaze taking in the Marquis of Crewe's lounging form. "You're supposed to be hosting your niece's coming out ball tonight."

Hugh Dalsany shrugged one shoulder negligently before lifting his glass of cognac to his mouth. "Fanny won't care if I'm there or not so long as I pay for it."

"Your legion of lovers will despair at your absence," his friend drolly noted. "Don't you service two or three a night?"

"Precisely why I'm not going." The young marquis grimaced before draining his glass, the last few days of carouse enervating. "I'm sick of them all," he murmured, leaning forward in a ripple of honed muscle, reaching for the liquor decanter. "I'm done fucking."

Charles Lytton's cue scratched down the green felt, missing the ball completely. "Are you on your deathbed?" he sardonically inquired, tossing aside the cue and standing upright. "Or just out to win this game?"

"Neither. I'm just bored to death. How many years have I been fucking?" The marquis slid lower in his chair and contemplated the liquor in his glass. "Too damned many," he said, half to himself, and, lifting the glass to his lips, he washed the taste of surfeit from his mouth.

"You're just grim about having to play the gentleman for your niece this Season. The debs will put any man out of sorts. Spend a week or so with Lavinia and you'll change your mind."

"Lord no, she's talking marriage. I'm serious, Charlie, I'm done with cunt. I must have fucked a thousand women in the last decade. That's enough for any man. I'm going up to Woodhill and settle into farming."

"You won't last a fortnight." Walking around the end of the billiard table, Lord Akers dropped into an adjoining chair. The game room was deserted, the men's dishevelled evening attire from the previous night not untypical for the more libertine club members. "Besides, we promised the Bellemy sisters we'd entertain them after your niece's soiree."

"You'll have to do it alone. I'm having my driver pick me up in a few minutes." The marquis smiled. "Im sure you'll manage without me."

"Five thousand says you won't remain celibate forwhat… a month?" Charlie's brows lifted in ironic query. "Or are you having all your house and dairy maids sent into purdah?"

"You'll lose your five thousand, and the maids will be perfectly safe." Save for his heavy-lidded gaze, the marquis's handsome face bore no marks of dissipation regardless the relentless debauch of the last few days. "You don't realize the extent of my ennui, Charlie."

"Nor would anyone watching you the week past."

The marquis shrugged again, any attempt at explanation beyond Charlie's understanding. "Give my regards to my sister Fanny if you see her tonight. I've sent her a note, but she's bound to have questions."

"Not that I could answer them. Good God, Crewe, this will astound everyone. They're going to say you're raving mad."

"If I was concerned with people's opinions," the marquis lazily drawled, "I'd have led a very different life, now, wouldn't I?"

"Can't argue with you there." Charlie and the marquis had been the bellwether for scandal since adolescence.

"Come up for fishing when you have your fill of London," the marquis offered, setting his glass aside and rising from the chair. "And I'll show you the improvements on the estate."

"Are you sick, Hugh?" Charlie's voice had gone soft, genuine concern and bafflement in his eyes.

"Don't worry, Charlie. Ihaven't been brought low by Venus's revenge. I've just decided to find something else to do besides fuck."

"You've never talked like this before."

Crewe 's tone was tolerant. "Don't worry, Charlie. It's not contagious." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Pierce is waiting. I'll see you when next you come to Woodhill." And with a wave, he walked from the room.

"Where's Pierce?" Standing on the curb outside Brookes, the marquis surveyed the unknown driver seated where his head groom should have been.

"He was taken sick, my lord."

"And Oates?"

"Driving Lady Castleton and Lady Jane, my lord."

"I hope you know the way to Woodhill," Hugh gruffly noted, disconcerted to find someone other than his personal driver at the reins. Pierce was more than a driver; he was privy to much of the marquis's personal life and held the enviable position of confidant.

"Yes, sir, I know the way, sir. No question o' that."

"Then get me there post haste. I'm weary to death of London," Crewe added, moving toward the carriage door held open by a small page he didn't recognize. "Are you from Dalsany House?" he inquired, placing his foot on the step, his weight putting a strain on the carriage springs. His second step put him inside the carriage, and the boy's response went unnoticed, for he found himself with company as the door shut and the carriage pulled away from the curb.

Female company.

"Who the hell are you?" the marquis curtly inquired, dropping into the opposite seat, a faint frown marring the perfection of his forehead.

"I apologize for taking Pierce from you."

"Taking him where?" Leaning back against the green leather squabs, he crossed his legs and scrutinized the woman seated across from him. She was fashionably dressed in primrose China silk patterned with blue flowers, the sumptuous summer gown, feminine, beribboned, and flounced, lush foil to her heavy auburn hair and porcelain skin. His gaze slowly traveled down her body, long-held habit still operating despite his new venture into celibacy. Her opulent bosom, slender waist, the curve of her hips garnered his approval if no longer his interest.

"Pierce's destination isn't important right now," she said, her posture unlike his, stiffly upright, her gloved hands folded in her lap. "He's perfectly fine. You needn't be concerned."

"Pierce can take care of himself, I'm sure," the marquis softly murmured, taking measure of the woman's unease. "You, however, have two minutes to explain your presence before I put you out."

"I'll be brief then." An underlying sultriness colored her voice; he took immediate note of it. "I have a proposal I'd like to make you." She hesitated briefly, and when his brows rose in silent query, she said in a rush, "I need a child."

He didn't pretend not to know what she meant. "Why come to me?"

"Because you have the reputation for being"a blush colored her cheeks"accommodating to women."

"Sorry. You're a day too late."

"I wouldn't be here unless my situation were critical."

"Look," the marquis gently said, "it's nothing personal. I've just decided to rusticate for a time. But there's any number of men who would be more than pleased to help you."

"Unfortunately, my husband chose you."

His lounging form stiffened at her words. "Chose me?" he murmured, his voice chill. "Who are you?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, but your reputation brought you to my husband's attention. While rumors of your most recent child by the Countess of Lismore last month apparently determined his final decision. I'm sorry."

"This is preposterous, of course." He'd relaxed again, the woman's story beyond the limits of possibility. He was wealthy, well connected; his ducal father was powerful, a personal intimate of the queen. This woman's proposalor her husband's proposalwas ludicrous. And he said as much again.

"Perhaps it won't take too long," she only said, and added again, "I'm sorry to involve you."

"You haven't," he snapped, reaching up to rap on the front panel, a signal for the driver to stop.

But rather than stop, the carriage picked up speed.

"Someone's going to pay for this," he muttered, his hand on the door latch.

A second later, in response to his glare, she calmly said, "It's locked from the outside."

Flinging himself back onto the seat, he swore in a lengthy stream of invectives before settling into a moody silence, the streets of London flashing by in rapid succession. The irony of his position had not escaped his notice and he contemplated briefly whether some mysterious vengeance was being exacted for his past sins. He further considered who might be behind this grotesque form of retaliation, but the list of disgruntled husbands, fathers, brothers was too lengthy to contemplate with any certainty. The lady's faint accent wasn't Englishalthough his amorous activities hadn't been confined to England so that only narrowed the possibilities marginally.

Surveying her from under his long lashes, he tried to recall whether they'd met before, and while the blur of women in his life was a constant, her dramatic beauty would have made her memorable. She was the kind of woman he and Charles would have rated in their green youth as worth a week of their time. Even now, in their jaded manhood, she would have been unforgettable. And if he'd not reached the ultimate point of female saturationand had she not forced herself on him, and further had he not been adamned prisoner in his own carriage, she might have piqued his interest.

But in his current hot-tempered misogyny, she was anathema.

Surveying the passing landscape as they moved into the countryside outside London, he considered the possibility of kicking the door out and jumping from the fast-moving carriage, but outriders flanked the conveyance front and back, he discovered, the large troop conspicuously Slav, their flat-boned cheeks and dark coloring, the medieval character of their armament giving evidence of their Balkan heritage. A practical man, he realized how ineffectual any attempt at escape would be and came to understand as well that the lady in his carriage or her husband at least had roots in the area east of the Adriatic.

Although at closer inspection, the lady, opulently titian-haired, white-skinned, and emerald-eyed, had none of the look of the East. Richly dressed, her sapphire jewelry first-rate gems, her mildly imperious air all bespoke a patrician world, but her eyes, brilliant green even in the shadowed interior, had none of thejeunesse dorée languor habitual to the beau monde. They shimmered with a barely restrained heat, like the husky contralto of her voice and the flaunting voluptuousness of her form would have lured a monk from his vows.

And now apparently he'd been selected to satisfy her husband's impulse for an heir. "Is your husband old?" he asked, curious.

"Yes."

"I see."

"No, you don't. He prefers young men; he's always preferred young men, but in his position a wife is required. As is a child eventually."