Christopher Mortlock—gardener extraordinaire. Everything you'd want from your gardener—and more, much more. Hedges trimmed and cravings tended with expert care and consideration.
Lady Helen attends a Brighton establishment to be sexually satisfied by their staff. Her husband Henry pays for this arrangement and together they relive the experiences.
This idyllic scheme falls apart when Christopher Mortlock recognises Lady Helen in London and endeavours to blackmail her. He is unaware of Lord Henry's involvement and Mortlock's blackmail plot is turned around to the benefit of all three of them.
Mortlock agrees to a new proposal to satisfy Lady Helen's sexual needs and is inventive and athletic in his labours as their gardener and employee—until the day he introduces her to 'fairy dust'. Lord Henry's wrath descends to save Lady Helen from addiction and punish Mortlock for his audacity.
Reader Advisory: This book contains references to drug use and anal penetration.
Publisher's Note: This story has been previously released as part of the At Your Service anthology by Totally Bound Publishing.
General Release Date: 26th July 2013
"Good evening, Mrs Brown," someone murmured behind her.
Helen’s stomach lurched. Her heart leapt and pounded at speed. Fear fizzed down her spine and twisted in her throat. Only a small group of people knew her as Mrs Brown and those people would not mix with, or be known to the present company. The cream of London’s society eddied around her, dressed to impress for their night at the Albert Hall—the interval afforded an opportunity to be seen and husbands attended with no interest in the musical recitals of Mozart and Chopin, let alone Beethoven’s Pastoral pieces.
She turned around, her gaze searching the moving crowd. Three men walked away through the theatre patrons, one younger than the others. From the rear, he looked well built, with wide shoulders, dressed in formal attire and walking with a slight swagger. The voice she’d heard had sounded young. Could it be him? Even if she could see his face she wouldn’t recognise him. When in the persona of ‘Mrs Brown’, she always requested a blindfold. If she had enjoyed his company, she wouldn’t know.
"Helen." Charlotte touched her arm to attract her attention and she turned back to concentrate on the moment and get her nerves under control.
"Sorry, Lottie, sorry."
"Lady Helen, may I introduce the Honourable Stuart Whitmore, Member of Parliament for Minderhurst." Charlotte indicated the gentleman who’d arrived while her gaze had been fixed elsewhere. "Mr Stuart Whitmore, may I introduce you to Lady Helen Montrose."
"I’m sorry, I can’t talk at the moment. Excuse me." She inclined her head towards the fawning Member of Parliament and gave Charlotte a quick smile. "I must go, Charlotte. I’m worried about Henry. He was a little poorly when I left this evening."
"But the programme is only halfway through."
"I must go, Lottie. I‘ve a feeling something is terribly wrong."
"I’ll walk with you."
They abandoned Mr Whitmore MP in the crowd. He would no doubt turn and inveigle his way into another group. More important things weighed on Helen’s mind than the ladder-climbing hopes of a back bencher. Lottie accompanied her through the throng that filled the foyer. The combined conversations hummed like a nest of wasps. They nodded politely to those who moved forward, hurrying past until they reached the entrance to wait for an available taxi.
"Helen, you’re quite pale. Are you ill?"
Charlotte had known her for many years but this was one secret Lady Helen could not share, even with her best friend. The nausea held its place, churning her insides and she couldn’t explain her pallor to Charlotte, no matter how desperate her need to spread the burden. Only to Henry could she talk. "Are you sure it isn’t you who is feeling unwell?"
"I’m fine, Charlotte, just tired. I’ll be happy to get home."
The driver waited, holding the door open.
"Thank you for your company this evening." Helen gave Charlotte a quick kiss on her soft powdered cheek then climbed into the back of the black taxicab. Her heartbeat had slowed since the man had called her Mrs Brown, but the lump in her throat still hurt. The sour taste of distress filled her mouth and her breath came in fast gasps as if she were panting. She leant back against the upholstery and inhaled several deep, slow breaths in an effort to calm her apprehension. Thank God Henry would still be awake when she got home. She needed his wise counsel, his old frail arms around her, his liver-spotted hands stroking her hair.
I have played with words most of my life and now have the time to put my dreams and fantasies on to paper. I'm a published poet and I try to put poetic images into my prose. I endeavour to express my ideas in a manner that will entertain and amuse.
I live in the aptly named Bay of Plenty, New Zealand, close to the coast and its long white beaches.
I welcome your comments and will answer your queries. I can be contacted at my email address listed below. Please put the title of the book in the subject line.
Reviewed by Jeep Diva
A clever twist on an “anything for the woman I love” theme, DeParte has created a short and steamy story that gives the reader many steamy moments and a story to enjoy.
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