How to Marry a Marble Marquis(43)
“This is a female?” She could see plainly that it was, as soon as the question was out. The creature that had taken them from Nottinghamshire to Ballymena had been thicker set, heavier with muscle, possessing an enormous pair of fat, fuzzy bollocks the same size and dark brown color of a wagon wheel.
“This is Myla. She’s our beauty, but aside from being stunning to look upon, she’s also the most agile flier in the nest. I assure you, Miss Eastwick, you have nothing to worry about. She’ll be able to deliver you to Sherborne in one piece. From there, it’s only a short carriage ride to Dorset and your destiny. Someone will be waiting to collect you.”
He’d bowed before her then, holding his hand out for hers for a yawning moment before she complied, realizing what this was.
“I wish you good fortune at the ball, Miss Eastwick.” He’d hesitated then, and her eyes had followed the bob in his throat as he swallowed heavily. “I shall look back on our time together . . . very fondly, my dear.”
Goodbye. Even though she had spent the last week hardening her heart against him, saying goodbye had somehow not figured into her planning. She had imagined herself beneath Silas Stride, had reminded herself that he was a cad and meant nothing to her, as she meant nothing to him, and had envisioned herself at the ball, attempting to catch the eye of some orcish lord, perhaps . . . but the interim, getting from point A to point B had never crossed her mind. Her face heated, alone on the stage, fraught with the expectation of what would come next.
“I thank you again, Lord Stride, for your generous donation of your time and your gracious hospitality. Your instruction will be put to good use; I can promise you that. I only hope that someday, I will be able to repay you for your time.”
“No repayment is necessary, my dear,” he’d murmured, kissing the top of her gloved hand. “The pleasure was all mine. Bon Voyage, Miss Eastwick. I do hope you find what you’re looking for.”
She was glad for the dark confines of the coach as her tears overflowed once the door closed behind her, shutting out the sight of Basingstone and Silas Stride for good. When the sun broke over the horizon, only a short while after they’d been in the air, her heart shuddered. That was that.
The difference between the two beasts was evident once they were airborne. Myla was more graceful in her take-off, but it quickly became evident that the consequence of being lighter and more agile meant that she coasted upon the current more than Lemuel had. The small coach swayed from side to side as the gryphon rode the air current, but it likely aided her in flying longer distances as well. It seemed like no time at all before her great Eagle wings were flapping, circling Sherborne before making her descent.
Perhaps you’ll make some friends, she told herself on the carriage ride to Maidenbury. The other women in attendance are going to be in the same position as you, you’re all looking to snag husbands who likely know each other. Finding allies is important. Her time on the stage had served her just as well as her tutelage with the Marquis of Basingstone. Rivals abounded in the world of the theater, and it was important to make the right sort of friends. To a certain extent, all of the women attending the ball were vying for the same ultimate end, but according to Lord Stride, the monstrous men would vastly outnumber the women.
“There will be plenty of chaps to go around,” he explained, his voice strained with the exertion of what his hips were doing down below.
Eleanor had been unable to respond at the time, with her back pressed to the wall and her arms around his neck, her legs wrapped around his narrow waist as he pumped into her. The pressure of his knot teased her every time it kissed the mouth of her opening, and the drag of the thick, ribbed ridges against her sensitive inner walls had rendered her speechless.
“You still want to employ your feminine wiles to ensnare the lord of your choosing. I know all of them, and they’re all the greedy sort.” His words were interrupted by a groan of pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut briefly. “That’s right, little moth, squeeze my cock just like that. I have to admit, I am greatly going to miss fucking this tight little pussy flower.” Another groan, his fangs dragging over her shoulder, before he continued. “None of them want to be left out of belonging. If you catch the eye of one, others will follow suit, so it’s important to act early, my dear.”
The world had gone white at that point, her body tightening around him, the heady, herbaceous smell of him making her dizzy as she clenched, his groan in her hair sending a ripple down her spine.
He was right, of course. She would need to make her play on the first night, advertise her eagerness to be a good wife to one of the monstrous lords in attendance, and then close the deal by the second day. She had no doubt some of the other attendees would be similarly prepared, and they would likely not all be pursuing the same nobleman. You establish that you’re not direct rivals, and then you make friends.
All too soon, she was gaping out the window at the sight of the manor. Broadstone was similarly situated on the cliffs, and she could hear the sound of the distant waves as a footman extended a hand to assist her descent from the carriage, and her name was announced.
“Miss Eleanor Eastwick, daughter of the late Philip Exeter Eastwick, Esquire, of London.” There was no turning back now.
The footmen and guards around the front of the Ch?teau were all orcs. Their hulking presence, combined with her earlier supposition that an orc might be her best bet for a match, made her stomach swoop. Broad shoulders and arms heavy with muscle, thick, tree trunk-like thighs, testing the density of their tail coats and breaches with every step they took. She couldn’t deny that an orc might be intriguing . . . their cocks are liable to be so big, they’ll cleave you in two. Her cheeks heated at the thought. Silas Stride wasn’t nearly as big as an orc, and the club in his trousers had already been a bit of a squeeze.