Wicked Lord: Part One

  ***

  "Come, Lady Ariel, walk with me in the gardens under the full moon," Fanton drawled, massaging the lady's slender neck from behind, with wisps of her blond hair curling over his moving hand.

  "But he is such a gentleman, and he's gone to fetch me punch. I really should wait."

  Fanton thought she spoke without any true conviction as his fingers tightened on her neck and he felt her begin to pull away from his hardened grasp. No, no, noble slut.

  "Wait," he called. "There is a new game gentlemen and ladies play who are courting that I want to teach you," he offered quickly, forcing a touch of teasing into his voice.

  He felt his lady-prize stop withdrawing as she leaned closer to him. "Courting game?" she asked, now nearly breathless. He was so brilliant and she was such a slut, he thought, as his sharp gaze traversed the ballroom. No one would notice them. A moonlit walk was normal among these weak society fools.

  "Come, I will show you."

  Then, as easy as that, he had a high-society whore out in the deserted gardens at night … all alone. He could feel no one else walked the gardens but he and the woman of such low virtue beside him.

  "The game is you shall run ahead and I stay to count, until I reach twenty, then I will come to catch you and if I'm able to catch you, you must forfeit a kiss to me."

  "A courting game, Lord Fanton?" she questioned with such hope in her voice, he nearly chuckled.

  "Of course, my savory treat. You and I …" He left the rest hanging for the blond slut to pick up, as he knew she would.

  "For a kiss then," she said brightly. "If you can catch me!"

  He told himself he would only play for a little while … this time. He would simply show himself how easy it was. Nothing more. He looked at the large glass-paneled doors to the ballroom. They were closed, but light spilled out onto the stone patio. He could hear the music and laughter as his gaze turned to the pale, moonlit gardens and beyond into the dark woods.

  How easy this was. He'd never realized.

  "I am counting," he declared. "One. Two."

  "Oh, Lord Fanton!" she exclaimed. "Don't start yet. I am going. Oh! Don't look which way I go."

  Fanton turned his back as if he were a dutiful courting puppy and he heard the swishing skirts of his prize as she skipped away. He looked up at a sliver of the full moon trying to peek through the fog, counting aloud for the twit's benefit as he wished the bobbing slut were Beth instead.

  His mind began to fixate on how he would adore chasing his plump Beth deep into the dark woods, while he rolled his shoulders, shedding his evening jacket. Better yet, he would strip Beth of the fancy silk she wore, ripping the material from her lush curving figure, before he let her loose. Then he would stalk her pale, naked body. His cravat came loose and he tugged at the collar of his pristine white shirt. He would watch Beth's fat breasts and wide hips as she would try to run from him. But no. She was not fast enough to escape his power … his strength. He would run her down. His Beth would try. Oh, she would struggle so hard trying to stop him. She would attempt to fight him with her frail limbs against his powerful strength. She would try to leave him. Yet he would never … ever let Beth leave him again!

  Shrill sounds suddenly pierced Fanton's hearing. He snarled on the edges of a manic roar, looking down at the blood washing his hands. His body shook as he wildly looked around. What had he done? How had he come to this? Again! So soon.