This gentlemanly approach was in keeping with his dress and deportment. His savoir-faire and courtesy were far from what I had expected. I had assumed a man who wanted a private view of a girl in the nude would be an old reprobate, physically gross and mentally repellant. With such a man I would have had no qualms about displaying myself naked provided he didn't touch me, but Sir Charles didn't fit into this picture by any means.
He was about my age, tall and slender, with very handsome features. I liked the sound of his voice, too, which was low and melodious. Because he was so attractive I was overcome with modesty and embarrassment. The thought of being just a nude object to him filled me with self disgust. Under different circumstances I would have set out to gain his admiration and respect.
He must have sensed the confusion of my feelings for, as soon as Dr Kersley left us alone together, he said, 'Dara, I know so little about you that my principal aim in seeking this assignation was in the hope that we may become better acquainted. There is no need for you to undress. I have seen your beautiful body many times in the lecture hall for I am one of your most devoted admirers. Please be seated so that we can converse in comfort.'
Relaxed in a chair, I now examined him more closely. He was undoubtedly the most beautiful man I had ever seen, with short dark hair, tightly curled, greyish-blue eyes beneath thick masculine eyebrows which gazed at me quizzically. There were small lines of humour around his mouth and eyes which softened the effect of his strong cleft chin and brought a warm expression of geniality to what would otherwise have been a stern face. is Dara your real name?' he asked diffidently with an amused expression on his face.
'Yes. I am Dara Kennet from the Isle of Man but recently returned from a visit to America.'
'Kennet,' he repeated. 'An uncommon name, if I may say so. I know of only one Kennet, a man of my own age with whom I was well acquainted when we were at Heaton together; a rather effeminate boy who shared a school desk with me for a number of years.'
He mused on the matter for a moment, then exclaimed, 'Why, that is quite extraordinary! James Kennet was also in America last year. Maybe you met him?'
'Yes, maybe,' I answered in some confusion. 'Where is he now… I would very much like to meet him?'
He gave me a long searching look. 'You know this man, don't you. Is it possible you are a relation of his?'
Getting no answer to his questions he asked, 'Have I stumbled on to some secret in your past? Why the reticence? Surely you can trust me; I wish you no harm.'
He was right, of course. There was no need to hide the truth from him. It was possible that the man who had been his schoolboy friend was the same James Kennet to whom I was wed. The only way to find out if this was so would be to trust him.
'Sir Charles,' I said, but got no further for he interrupted me to exclaim with a smile, 'Forget the title; just address me as Charles. There is no need for formalities between friends.'
“Very well,' I replied. 'The truth of the matter, Charles, is that the James Kennet you speak of could be the man I married in New York and who deserted me shortly after we arrived back in England. But I cannot be sure. Where and how can I meet him? Is he in London?'
'Yes, to be sure. But from what I know of him he is hardly likely to be the type of man YOU would choose for a husband. I saw him but only yesterday, strolling down the Strand with his lover, Nicholas Dawney. No, not your man, I'm sure.'
While he was speaking I remembered something that would be a means of identifying this James Kennet as my husband: a birthmark on his neck that looked like a small red ladybird.
'Tell me, Charles, has your James got a birthmark?'
'Why, yes,' he answered quickly. 'I saw it often enough when we sat beside each other at school. It was like a little red beetle just under his left ear. I know it was on the left side of his neck because he always sat to the right of me.'
That clinched it. There was no longer any doubt in my mind that he was speaking of my James. In my agitation I stood up and declared that I would go to him at once.
'Not before you satisfy my curiosity on one or two questions that puzzle me,' Charles replied calmly. 'In my opinion James is incapable of husbanding any woman, however attractive she may be. How did you come to marry him?'
I told him the truth of how we met, our first night together in bed and the celibate months of marriage that followed the wedding.
When I had finished, he said, 'How dreadful it must have been for you, my dear, and yet how fortunate for, as it turns out, you are married to one of the wealthiest men in England. A man who owns thousands upon thousands of acres of land, an elegant town house, a huge mansion in Berkshire and an equally large house in Kent. His father died about two months ago. He was out hunting and his horse threw him head first into a tree. James, being his only child, succeeded to the title and inherited a great fortune.'
'What shall I do, Charles? Please advise me.' it is much too late for you to go calling on James tonight. Besides, think of the embarrassment for all parties concerned if we found him in bed with his lover? Will you put yourself in my hands and allow me to protect and support you in what could be a very tricky confrontation with your husband? It will have to be in the morning for later in the day I board a ship bound for Australia where I am to be secretary and aide to my uncle who is taking up a very responsible position out there.'
'What will I say to Dr Kersley?' I asked, anxious as to what I should do next and very much disturbed by this news of titles, great wealth and male lovers.
'Dr Kersley? Ah, I can see trouble there. It would be better for your future position in society if he knew nothing about this. Will it take long for you to pack your belongings? We could make our escape now, before he returns to your room.'
I threw some clothing into my leather bag and followed Charles down some back stairs to an exit at the rear of the building. Once out in the open we ran helter-skelter across the grassy lawns to his waiting carriage. 'Hurry, Baldwin,' he shouted to the coachman. 'Make all haste to Cheyney House.' In the plush, dark interior of the carriage I lay back to recover my breath.
Charles put a protective arm around me and I snuggled up close to him feeling warm and secure in his embrace. He kissed me warmly on the lips and I responded with all the affection of my nature. Cool fingers loosened the buttons of my blouse and delicately caressed the nipples of my breasts. To my hot delight he made free with my body. His hands were everywhere. When his fingers began to gently probe between the tender lips of my giny I arched my back in an intensity of feeling.
My clothing was in great disarray when the coachman brought the horses to a halt outside Charles' home in Catherine Place. All was quiet in this by-street sheltering near Buckingham Palace. Luckily there was nobody about to see me descend from the coach and enter the house. Taking up the small lighted candle placed in a china bowl on the hallway side table, Charles led me upstairs to his bedroom.
Clothing was scattered all over the room when our bared bodies came together in a breathtaking embrace. His cock filled out and pressed against my burning flesh. It was so sturdy and thick when I grasped it in my hand. Getting down on my knees, I held the throbbing cock firmly as I delicately licked its swollen head with the tip of my tongue. I nearly choked when, in a spasm of quickened lust, his hips thrust forward and it penetrated the top of my throat.
Throwing me on the bed he came on me like a raging bull, churning my innards with savage lust. Strong hands gripped the cheeks of my bottom and pulled me into him as he strove with rapist thrusts to get deep inside me. I brought my knees up high and submitted willingly to this ravishment. Swirling in a storm of passion that shook my innermost senses, my feelings rose and clashed in an explosive climax as his hands pulled my buttocks up to him for my giny to receive the gushing sap from his dilated, pulsating member. We lay, released from all earthly desires, our senses dissolved in a blissful nirvana of extinction that the French speak of as 'the little death'.