Maria Garcia (Angry Women Series)
(A Very Dirty Story Told In Two Parts)
The Moral Right Of The Author Is Asserted
(Warning: Sexually Explicit Content)
Elizabeth had watched some porn to try and prepare herself but quite frankly, it had left her cold and just a little disturbed. Now she listened to Arthur’s lawyer trying to keep her tongue and her temper under control but it was a battle she was rapidly losing.
“I must say Lady Elizabeth this is all deeply unorthodox. In all my years as legal advisor to the Kenferd Estate I have never known anything like it and off the record I would most strongly advise you to secure the services of a very good lawyer and challenge these outrageous demands. I am certain that with rigorous legal counsel this nonsense can be challenged and overturned.”
Lady Elizabeth Kenferd frowned her dark brown eyes revealing nothing of the turmoil raging inside her head.
“So the old bastard demands that I submit to this if I wish to keep the Estate and all assets, is that about it?”
The Lawyer, Bingley-Darkmore; a small mousy man nodded hiding his scandalised expression behind the bulky documentation pertaining to the Estate. The paperwork sat squat and immovable on a large ancient table.
“Read it again, Bingley.”
Bingley cleared his throat and began to read: “Regarding my wife, Lady Elizabeth Bowen-Kenferd, 23rd Countess of Windermere and 3rd Baroness of Lionstar; as this most ungentle woman did during our marriage repeatedly refuse to open her legs and have me partake of her glorious sweetness or in any way share of her body as a good loving wife should but rather was a mean and most vindictive tight arsed bitch who made my life a living hell. I hereby state that the property of Kenferd Castle and all lands and possessions pertaining to said Estate including the Town houses in New York, London and Madrid and the summer residence in Jamaica together with all monies held in my bank accounts in the United Kingdom and Switzerland shall be forfeited and given to The English National Trust unless my Lady wife adheres to the following conditions: Lady Elizabeth Kenferd must submit to be fucked by The Tempest Knights. Eligibility to be a fuck-partner of The Countess entails the following: Said Tempest Knights must also be members of The Knight’s Table having participated in various tournaments and championships but be of lowly birth; holding no rank nor title. She is to submit and share her body with the Tempest Knights and do so freely, whenever and however it is demanded during the weekend of the Knights Table. Sexual congress with Knights who are not part of the Knight’s Table will result in the forfeiture of all property and connected investments.”
Elizabeth’s lips tightened to a grim line. She hated the Knights Table; a bloody historical re-enactment society glorifying ancient battles that no one could truly remember and cared even less about accept Arthur and his cronies. Elizabeth’s heart was tight in her chest a sense of growing panic taking hold. She hated sex; it had been a disgusting vile burden to submit to her weekly unions with Arthur. After each ordeal she had always felt sullied by the experience and cleansed herself in a scolding hot shower until her skin was red and raw. But now he had her; the futility of it all overwhelmed her.
“He knew I couldn’t wriggle out of this; challenging it would mean hiring a lawyer and going before a judge in a court of law, no matter how discreet we tried to make this something would leak out; remember this is the British Tabloid press we’d be dealing with, Bingley. They’d never let it go: a wealthy Estate worth billions, a Peer of the Realm and sex.
Bingley shook his head. “I wish I could do more my lady but it’s quite out of my hands. The recording and verification of what is demanded in Sir Arthur’s Will is to be sent to a legal firm in London; frankly I’ve never heard of them.”
Elizabeth shook her head and closed her eyes. Arthur always was a sneaky fox; the coming Knights Table was from his point of view the perfect venue to exact his vengeance. It took place once a year in late summer and involved all the old heraldic families that had not been eliminated by death duties, bankruptcy or lunacy.
Each heraldic house hired ex Special Forces and retired marines; decked out in the coat of arms and other paraphernalia of each Ancient House they would do battle or as Arthur liked to put it ‘Bash the bugger out of each other!’ On a patch of ground that alternated yearly between the Great Houses; thankfully Kenferd’s turn to host this Bashing of Brains Fest had taken place last year. Now all that was required was that Kenferd house and entertain a number of Knights during the Knights Table event.
At the end of the tournament those Knights left standing earned an indecently high cash prize as did the winning Great House who were able to preen and prance about how absolutely wonderful they were, retain possession of the Gold Cup of Triumph for a year and pocket fifty-thousand pounds. The cup alone was made of solid gold and studded with precious gems.
Arthur’s Knights known as The Tempest Knights; a rag tag group of brothers, cousins and hangers on from Spain had, three years in a row won the coveted prize and made Arthur a very happy and rich man. Having the Knights at Kenferd Castle was also an opportunity for Arthur to give personal guided tours and wax lyrical about the history and legacy of Kenferd. Now this duty would fall to Elizabeth. These were duties she had always avoided like the plague escaping to a spa on Lake Como or a skiing holiday in the Alps, somewhere, anywhere but Kenferd during Knights Table.
She found the men that invaded the Castle vulgar and loud and the numerous cameras Arthur insisted on placing around the vast estate so that he could replay to his friends later highly intrusive. …But now, realized Elizabeth, these same cameras would be rigged to catch her coupling with these unwashed louts. She shivered with revulsion. Lost in thought the silence lengthened.
Ignoring the constant hum of his cell phone Bingley fiddled with his pen the anxiousness evident in his voice. “My Lady Elizabeth what in heavens name are we to do?”
Elizabeth balled her slender fingers into tight fists. She had married Arthur when she was young and naïve her body in full bloom and he was an indecently randy man of sixty-two. She had been chosen for her youth, her round hips, large breasts, good strong teeth and red gold hair. The fact that she loved literature and art and hoped to travel the world and attend university had been pointedly ignored. Elizabeth’s father, the 5th Baron of Lionstar chose the 29th Earl of Windermere for his very large wallet, political influence and position in The House of Lords. Now her husband the Earl was gone and Elizabeth would shortly celebrate her thirty-nine birthday, she was relieved. Having sex with Arthur had been quite simply hell. She had closed her eyes and thought not of England as she had spread her legs or of duty and honour as he had mounted her like one of his beloved prize Frisian cows. No, it was the knowledge that one-day the dirty old goat would croak off and die and she would be repaid in full for all she had suffered at his hands.
They were seated in one of the numerous drawing rooms dotted around the castle.
Elizabeth stood up, suddenly she felt so trapped, as though no matter where she turned a black abyss waited to suck her under. This was her home; it was all she knew, all she cared to know. She passed ancestral portraits and frescos, several Rembrandts, Vermeer’s and a Van Gogh finally coming to a halt by a large vaulted window decorated with late seventh century gild carvings and painted nymphs in flight. Her gaze took in the Elizabethan Maze and infamous Poison Garden that in late summer were opened to members of the general public, then there were the other themed gardens that Kenferd possessed that had over time been the setting for more than one historical TV drama. Kings and Queens had slept in Kenferd beds, roamed Kenferd’s numerous secret passageways and gardens. These ancient walls had witnessed it all, bloodshed, deceit, adultery, betrayal and even the odd murder. This place was pure history and she was part of it. Kenferd was in her blood and in her bones.
Elizabeth felt the cleansing surge of a roaring rage.
“My Lady?” Bingley close to hysteria waited desperate for guidance.
Finally Elizabeth came to a decision.
“If this is what it takes to allow me to have what is mine then so be it. I will do what is demanded and when I am done The Tempest Knights will be disbanded, this nonsense of The Knight’s Table at Kenferd will finally be at an end.”
Bingley dropped his pen, a gasp escaped his lips and he turned a sickly shade of green.
“My Lady you cannot possibly mean …”
“Yes, Bingley; that’s exactly what I mean.” Swallowing her terror Elizabeth focused on the detail. She would purchase a notebook and begin to prepare. “The Knights Table begins in a few weeks; I must be ready.”
The days vanished in a frenzy of preparation, Elizabeth lost herself in a storm of lists; things to do; things that had yet to be done; how she could keep Kenferd running with a skeleton level of staff without causing disruption to the running of the actual Estate; the logistics of cameras versus light and a dogged lesson in memory keeping as she mastered where each tiny lens was; what to wear; for appearances sake, should she remain in mourning black or ditch such garb for something brighter; should she purchase sex toys or simply lie on her back, close her eyes and think of the money; should she be cold and haughty or warm and attempt the façade of being sincere. In order not to go insane with worry Elizabeth began to think of the entire process as just a game. Then early one morning she awoke, the sun was already high and hot in the sky and her heart had begun to beat up a storm. She sat barely able to keep herself still as her maid arranged her hair, piling and twisting her red locks into an elaborate plait on top of her head. Finally there was nothing more to be done. Bingley had been dispatched to the numerous great houses as her representative for the coming tournament so that she might give a more personal service to her forthcoming guests. Elizabeth stood at the end of Kenferd’s long sweeping drive dressed in a Vogue midnight blue outfit of crushed velvet and Coco Channel heels and knew there was no more time and no more lists she could hide behind. She had raided Arthur’s drinks cupboard and downed an overly generous measure of Jamaican Rum to give herself some courage. Her pocket notebook was full; crammed with all the things that had spun around her head while trying to come to terms with what she was now required to do. There was the distant sound of laughter, the gunning of an engine, the rapid screech of tyres and lots of smoke. Ready or not The Tempest Knights were coming.
At first he was nothing more than a looming shadow walking towards her against the heat, sun and the dust. Elizabeth sensed rather than saw the flash of white teeth and eyes that bored into her soul.
“First of all on behalf of myself and all the Knights my condolences. Sir Arthur was a fine man and a loyal friend to The Tempest Knights.”
“On an all together happier note I understand your ancestors hail from the same small village of Santiago Compostela as do our own; why that makes us practically family! May I take the liberty of calling you Elizabeth?”
He was tall, his long black hair nearly catching his shoulders, his army jacket, red shirt and tight jeans did nothing to assuage Elizabeth’s growing nerves and then there was the sensation of all the other men that stood waiting expectantly behind him to be introduced, to have her offer polite chit-chat. How would they feel when she pushed herself upon them? Elizabeth gulped sensing the harsh irony. The countless balls and tea parties Arthur had begged her to attend and engage with these men; now it was she who needed them. Without them she would be homeless with not a penny to her name but she was stubborn, mule stubborn and old habits such as an intense dislike of the Tempest Knights, Elizabeth found near impossible to put aside.
“I may have had a distant relation who indeed came from Santiago Compostela but I am at a loss to fathom the exact nature or relation as to why you might find this significant. As for how you may address me, Countess Windermere or Lady Elizabeth will do.” Her heart was as tight as a drum and breathing was suddenly near impossible.
If he felt the insult the man before her did not show it. Elizabeth was left with the overriding impression that this man would bend to no one and possessed skin far thicker than any rhino. He reminded Elizabeth not of a lover but of a fighter. A man accustomed to inflicting pain not pleasure. He held her gaze with the most piercing blue eyes. His accent was soft, it reminded her of warm syrup, Antonio Banderas and dangerous nights.
Ten pairs of eyes were gazing at Elizabeth. She reddened aware her mind had wandered. Perhaps the rum had been a bad idea.
“It is my name, do not overuse it.” She was being indecently rude yet he merely smiled, an infuriatingly bright twinkle in his eye. Elizabeth wondered, if she were to aim her foot at the epicentre of his manhood would his grin remain so broad?
“But of course! We have yet to properly introduce ourselves!”
The man bowed deeply his dark hair almost sweeping the ground.
“I am Athos Tempest and these are my fellow Knights; brothers, cousins and loyal friends.”
“We have Aramis.”
Athos slapped Aramis on the back; it was clearly a gesture of affection but Elizabeth shuddered as the strength of the blow resonated through her but Aramis did not flinch.
He had the largest blue eyes Elizabeth had ever seen, he was clean-shaven, wore jeans and a white T-shirt that exposed not only his muscular frame but also partially revealed the body art that decorated his skin. Elizabeth detected reptiles, trees and a solid black outline that immediately intrigued. The art began at his throat, fell to his arms then vanished god knew where. Elizabeth swallowed struggling to drag her mind out of the mental gutter to which it had without warning descended.
Aramis kissed her hand his lips were hot, they left behind a heat that lingered long after he’d relinquished her touch, his blue gaze steady and flirtatiously bright.
“And this handsome well dressed devil is Porthos.”
Elizabeth could not help but stare. The man that stood before her was quite simply beautiful, impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit, sparkling white shirt minus the tie and the addition of riding boots, a riding crop held lightly in well-manicured hands.
“Struggling for something civil to say Elizabeth blurted the very first thing that entered her head. “I see you have a riding crop; you must be an avid equestrian.”
“Yes he’s an avid rider but it is of women not horses!” Shouted a voice from the group followed by raucous laughter that Porthos pointedly ignored as he kissed Elizabeth’s hand. Elizabeth cleared her throat, again there was that heat flowing to places no heat had ever gone before!
“Countess it is a pleasure and may I compliment you on your delightful outfit.”
“Don’t worry about Porthos my lady, his adoration of women is matched only by his love of clothes.” Whispered Athos a wicked grin taking possession of his handsome face as he moved to the next man in the group.
“And this is my youngest brother, D’Artagnan.”
D’Artagnan grinned; it made his eyes the colour of a deep blue sea, sparkle.
“D’Artagnan is still finding his feet as it were; he’s been a solider, a trainee chef and a nightclub bouncer among other things. He’s not strictly speaking a member of the Tempest Knights. We brought him along to keep him out of mischief and make up the numbers after the unfortunate accident with Treville last year.”
D’Artagnan inclined his head a shy smile slipping to his lips, his black curls bouncing against his tanned face. There were so many of them and suddenly they all seemed to be pressing against her. Elizabeth placed a hand inside her suit pocket, rapping trembling fingers around the small notebook as though this might in some bizarre way give her the courage she needed.
“Now let me introduce my cousins beginning with this vile rogue, De Rochefort Tempest.”
Elizabeth’s gaze fell on the face of a disfigured angel; he reminded Elizabeth of the marble frescos that stood to attention in Arthur’s Italian Room; creepy cold creations that she always shied away from. Rochefort stepped forward a warm smile of greeting enveloping his face the savage scar below his left eye crinkling garishly as his smile widened to a grin. His eyes were so cold, the more he grinned, the colder those green eyes appeared to be thought Elizabeth backing away. She wanted to turn to Athos, tell him just this but Athos was not there. Instead a thick mesh was descending obliterating all the light until soon her vision was so blurred as to be non-existent …
She could not move. There seemed to be a great weight impeding her limbs.
Slowly Elizabeth opened her eyes.
“And the Lady awakes!”
Athos was peering down at her his legs straddling her body.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
Athos pulled something from his pocket. Waved it under her nose. Elizabeth felt suddenly sick with dread.
“I could ask you the same question my Lady.”
Elizabeth watched as Athos opened the book, his long lashes downcast as he turned the pages, then stopping at a selected point cleared his throat, “perhaps the use of anal beads, spermicidal gel, corsets, positions to be considered; missionary, cowgirl, cowboy, anal, oral, to swallow; question mark …ten men equals billions …” Athos sniffed the air and frowned. “Have you been drinking?”
Elizabeth squirmed in the vein attempt to wriggle free. Athos grinned and applied with malicious pleasure the full weight of his body against her waist.
Elizabeth felt the hard heat of his growing erection and swallowed.
“What do you want?” She whispered eyeing him with care.
“I believe that is a question that I Countess should be asking you.” He grinned his eyes sparkling with flirtatious intent.
Elizabeth took in her surroundings. She was in the Tudor Room prostrate on the bed. Arthur’s ancestors; all men with dogs and rifles and deep scowling faces glared down at her from gilded frames; the dark shadows that had followed her since his death momentarily receding as Athos Tempest fully clothed loomed above her.
“Well, I am waiting?”
A terrible thought struck Elizabeth. “Did anyone else see this book?”
Athos’ blue eyes darkened. His full sensuous lips became a grim line. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Heat coiled in the pit of Elizabeth’s stomach, consuming her body from all sides.
Athos seemed to take great pleasure in pushing his aroused member further against her prone body.
Elizabeth took a deep breath her gaze determined and intent.
“I had better start from the beginning ...”