The harvest moon hung low over Whitehaven Estate, casting long shadows across the newly cultivated fields where months earlier only marsh grass and reeds had thrived. Bobby Kestrel stood at the window of his private study, a glass of Bordeaux held forgotten in his hand as he stared out at the silvery landscape. The transformation of the once-desolate Hoo Peninsula into a thriving agricultural and manufacturing center represented merely the physical manifestation of his influence—the visible portion of a much deeper restructuring he had initiated within England's social and political framework.
Yet tonight, his mind wandered far from Tudor England's political machinations.
"Galea," he whispered to the empty room, the name emerging unbidden from memories he usually kept carefully submerged beneath his focus on present circumstances. In the quiet moments between manipulations and machinations, her absence created hollow spaces his endless knowledge and power couldn't fill.
Sometimes he could almost feel her—the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips, the particular cadence of her laughter when he'd said something deliberately outrageous, the way her eyes had reflected starlight during their nights beneath alien skies. Galea, who had somehow penetrated defenses built across billions of years of solitude. Galea, who had seen the god and loved the man beneath.
And Eden. Their impossible daughter.
Bobby closed his eyes, allowing himself this rare moment of genuine vulnerability in the solitude of his chamber. The quantum displacement energy accumulating within his system reminded him that his time in this reality remained limited. Eventually, it would tear him away from this timeline just as it had ripped him from Galea and Eden. The laws of quantum entanglement proved unforgiving even to beings of his extraordinary capabilities.
A soft knock interrupted his reverie—three quick taps followed by a deliberate pause and then two more. The distinctive pattern identified the visitor as clearly as a formal announcement.
Bobby didn't turn from the window. "Enter, Harrington."
The door opened with well-oiled silence, revealing his most trusted living agent—perhaps the only truly human confidant he maintained in this timeline. Harrington stepped into the study with characteristic efficiency, closing the door behind him before offering a precisely calibrated bow that acknowledged Bobby's technical nobility while maintaining the practical reality of their actual relationship.
"My lord," Harrington began with unusual formality that immediately signaled some potential complication. "Lady Howard requests a private audience at your convenience. She awaits in the east antechamber."
Bobby suppressed a sigh. Since his elevation to nobility, Whitehaven had attracted an expanding collection of courtiers seeking advantage through association with his rising influence. While the men typically focused on commercial partnerships and political alliances, several noblewomen had pursued more personal connections with the enigmatic baron whose wealth and power seemed to increase daily despite his technically recent arrival in English society.
"At this hour?" Bobby turned from the window, studying Harrington's carefully neutral expression. "Her daughter requires rest after their journey, yet the mother seeks private audience rather than similar recuperation?"
"The young Miss Catherine retired to her chamber approximately one hour ago," Harrington confirmed with precise attention to detail that made him invaluable as living agent. "Lady Howard, however, appeared particularly... energetic... despite the journey's rigors."
Bobby caught the subtle emphasis that communicated volumes between them. Lady Howard's interest extended well beyond mere political alliance or commercial partnership—a reality Harrington had observed with characteristic attention to nuanced behavioral indicators despite maintaining appropriate discretion in his reports.
"I see." Bobby set his wineglass down on the polished surface of his desk. "And does Lady Howard's energetic condition suggest particular urgency requiring immediate response despite the late hour?"
Harrington's expression remained professionally neutral despite the obvious subtext. "Her ladyship mentioned certain... proposals... regarding potential arrangements beneficial to all parties concerned. She emphasized personal delivery rather than written communication given the sensitive nature of these suggestions."
Bobby suppressed another sigh. The pattern had become increasingly familiar as his influence expanded through English society. Widows with substantial assets seeking protection through intimate alliance; mothers with eligible daughters seeking advantageous marriages to rising nobility; occasionally even wives whose husbands tacitly permitted extramarital arrangements in exchange for commercial or political advantage.
"Show her in, Harrington." Bobby moved to his desk, arranging himself with casual authority that nonetheless projected the power these women inevitably found so attractive despite its deliberately understated presentation. "Though perhaps ensure we remain undisturbed regardless of other visitors who might seek audience this evening."
Harrington bowed with perfect understanding of the implied instruction. "Of course, my lord. I shall inform other potential visitors that pressing business requires your complete focus until morning."
As Harrington departed to retrieve Lady Howard, Bobby adjusted his posture slightly—leaning back in his chair with calculated casualness that nonetheless maintained subtle dominance appropriate to his position. These encounters required careful calibration between accessibility and authority, creating perception of potential intimacy while preserving necessary distance until appropriate assessment could determine actual compatibility beyond merely transactional interaction.
Lady Howard entered with practiced grace that nonetheless contained subtle urgency beneath her composed exterior. In her early thirties, she represented English aristocracy's ideal feminine form—auburn hair constrained in fashionable arrangement that nonetheless suggested potential liberation under appropriate circumstances, figure maintaining youthful contours despite childbearing, complexion suggesting sufficient nobility to avoid manual labor while avoiding the unhealthy pallor of excessive confinement indoors.
"Baron Kestrel," Frances Howard greeted him with a perfectly calculated curtsy that simultaneously acknowledged his nobility while emphasizing her feminine contours through the movement's deliberate execution. "Your continued hospitality honors my daughter and myself beyond appropriate expression through mere words."
Bobby leaned back in his chair, observing her with a mixture of appreciation and amusement. Frances Howard had perfected the art of courtly seduction—the precise balance of deference and invitation, modesty and suggestion. She remained one of the few truly interesting humans he'd encountered in this timeline.
"Lady Howard," he acknowledged with a slight incline of his head. "Your presence graces Whitehaven despite the late hour. Though I confess some curiosity regarding matters so urgent they couldn't await morning's light."
Frances moved around his desk with casual familiarity that would have shocked most of English nobility. The practiced grace of her movements suggested both confidence and purpose as she positioned herself closer to him than propriety would typically allow.
"Oh, come now, Bobby," she said, dropping the formal address entirely as she perched on the edge of his desk. "Must we maintain these tedious formalities when we're alone? It's exhausting enough performing for the court vultures all day."
The transformation was immediate and striking. Like shedding an uncomfortable garment, Frances Howard discarded her carefully constructed noble persona, revealing the sharp-witted and pragmatic woman beneath. It was this quality, more than her undeniable physical attributes, that had initially captured Bobby's interest.
"A fair point," he conceded, his own posture relaxing slightly. "Though Harrington mentioned 'proposals' requiring private delivery. Should I assume this isn't about the northern wool consortium after all?"
Frances laughed, the sound genuine rather than the practiced musical titter she deployed in court circles. "Fuck the wool consortium. Though I did secure those contracts you mentioned." She leaned forward slightly. "But no, I'm here about something considerably more... personal."
Bobby raised an eyebrow, though he'd already anticipated the general direction of this conversation from Harrington's carefully chosen words. "I'm listening."
"Catherine is sixteen now," Frances stated without preamble, watching his reaction carefully. "She's noticed you, of course. Impossible not to, with half the court ladies spreading their legs at the mere mention of the mysterious Baron Kestrel."
"Your maternal pride is touching," Bobby remarked dryly.
"Don't play coy. It doesn't suit you." Frances stood, moving with deliberate slowness around his chair, her fingers trailing lightly across his shoulders as she circled him. "She asks about you constantly. Wants to know everything—your businesses, your mysterious past, your... special talents."
Bobby remained still, allowing her this little performance while maintaining his amused detachment. "And naturally, as a devoted mother, you've shared detailed insights regarding these 'special talents'?"
"Enough to pique her interest," Frances admitted without a trace of embarrassment. "Though some experiences require... practical demonstration rather than mere description."
Bobby turned his chair slightly, facing her directly. "Frances, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"
Her smile widened, predatory and unapologetic. "Catherine is beautiful, intelligent, and curious. More importantly, she's a Howard. We understand how the world truly works beneath all the Christian morality nonsense the clergy peddles." She leaned down, bringing her face close to his. "I'm offering you both of us. Mother and daughter. Together."
Though Bobby had suspected this direction, the explicit offer still represented an unusual level of directness even by Frances Howard's standards. He maintained his composed expression while studying her with those ancient eyes that had witnessed civilizations rise and fall.
"An intriguing proposition," he acknowledged, his voice betraying neither shock nor immediate acceptance. "Though perhaps one requiring some consideration given the... unconventional nature of the arrangement."
Frances straightened, confidence radiating from her posture. "Consider it a formal alliance, if you prefer more political framing. Catherine needs a husband of appropriate influence. You need connections to established nobility to solidify your position." Her smile turned knowing. "Meanwhile, we both know your appetites extend beyond what any single woman might reasonably satisfy."
Bobby feigned contemplation, though in truth, his decision had formed the moment she entered his study. Frances Howard represented an interesting distraction—nothing more. His true focus remained firmly on the larger game involving the Tudor succession and his promise to Elizabeth.
"A tempting arrangement," he admitted after the appropriate pause for consideration. "Though I wonder if either you or Catherine fully understand the position you're attempting to secure."
Frances laughed, the sound genuinely amused rather than performative. "You mean competing with a Tudor princess and a Grey queen? I'm not a fool, Bobby. Neither Catherine nor I could ever surpass what they represent politically." She shrugged, the gesture candidly pragmatic. "But politics and pleasure need not always align perfectly. Elizabeth can have your crown while we enjoy... other parts of you."
Bobby couldn't suppress a genuine smile at her shrewdness. Frances Howard might lack the formal education of Elizabeth or Jane, but her instinctual understanding of power dynamics often proved remarkably accurate.
"You navigate treacherous waters with impressive skill, Lady Howard," he observed, deliberately using her title to acknowledge this assessment of the political landscape. "Many would have drowned long ago in your position."
"Henry certainly did," she replied with a casual reference to her recently deceased husband that confirmed Bobby's suspicions regarding her involvement in that convenient passing.
Rather than commenting on this implicit admission, Bobby rose from his chair, towering over Frances despite her considerable height. "You've cultivated your assets brilliantly," he acknowledged, allowing his gaze to travel deliberately down her body in a way that transformed the double meaning into something explicitly carnal. "Both your wealth and your... natural advantages."
Frances didn't retreat from his proximity. Instead, she pressed herself against him, her body heat permeating through the fine fabric of their clothing. "Why waste time with further negotiation when we both know where this conversation leads?" She reached between them, her hand boldly cupping the substantial bulge already evident in his breeches. "The same place it's led every time I've visited your chambers these past months."
Bobby gripped her wrist, not to stop her advances but to establish dominance in their interaction. "Henry's body barely cold, and already you scheme to secure your daughter in my bed alongside yourself." His tone held no judgment, merely clinical observation. "Most mothers would seek protection for their daughters rather than offering them as additional enticement."
"Most mothers are fools," Frances replied without hesitation, her fingers continuing their exploration despite his grip on her wrist. "Catherine will need powerful protection in this world. More importantly, she deserves pleasure rather than the miserable duty I endured with Henry." She leaned closer, her lips nearly touching his ear as she whispered, "Besides, I've seen how she looks at you. She wants this as much as I do."
With a single fluid movement, Bobby spun Frances around and bent her over his desk, his hand firmly pressing between her shoulder blades to hold her in place. The action was swift but controlled—a demonstration of power rather than violence.
"And what exactly do you want, Frances?" he asked, his free hand gathering the material of her skirts, drawing them upward with deliberate slowness. "Beyond the obvious political advantages?"
"Don't play stupid," she gasped, already spreading her legs wider in anticipation as cool air touched her exposed thighs. "I want that magnificent cock filling me again. I've thought of nothing else since you last had me."
Bobby continued gathering her skirts, exposing the bare flesh of her upper thighs and the unadorned cunny already glistening with evidence of her arousal. "No undergarments," he observed with mild amusement. "You came prepared."
"I came hopeful," she corrected, arching her back to present herself more prominently. "Now stop talking and fuck me like you mean it."
Bobby released his grip on her back, confident she would maintain the position without further restraint. His fingers traced the exposed curve of her ass, appreciating the contrast between her pale skin and the rich burgundy of her bunched skirts. Frances Howard might represent merely temporary distraction from his larger concerns, but she certainly provided entertaining diversion.
"Tell me more about Catherine," he directed as his fingers explored the slick folds of her sex with practiced familiarity. "How exactly have you prepared her for this proposed arrangement?"
Frances gasped as he slid two fingers inside her with deliberate precision, finding the spots he'd mapped during their previous encounters. "I've told her everything," she admitted, pushing back against his hand. "How big you are, how you stay hard for hours, the things you make me feel..."
"Everything?" Bobby prompted, adding a third finger while his thumb circled her clit with precise pressure.
"Fuck!" Frances gasped, her body already responding to his skilled manipulation. "Yes, everything. How you bend me over and take me from behind. How you make me beg. How full I feel with your cock inside me."
Bobby withdrew his fingers abruptly, leaving her whimpering at the sudden emptiness. With practiced efficiency, he unfastened his breeches, freeing his impressively proportioned member. The size had initially shocked Frances during their first encounter—thick enough that her fingers couldn't fully encircle it, with length that had made her genuinely question her ability to accommodate him.
"And Catherine? She wasn't scandalized by her mother's explicit confessions?" Bobby positioned himself at Frances' entrance, the broad head of his cock parting her folds without pushing inside.
"God no," Frances laughed breathlessly, trying unsuccessfully to push back against him. "She was fascinated. Asked questions I wouldn't have dared at her age." She looked over her shoulder, eyes dark with lust. "She wants to watch next time. Said she needs to learn properly before participating."
Bobby gripped Frances' hips, holding her firmly as he pushed forward with deliberate slowness. Her body resisted briefly before stretching to accommodate his substantial girth, drawing a long, guttural moan from her throat as he sank inch by inch into her welcoming heat.
"Such a devoted mother," he remarked, the sarcastic observation contrasting with the primal nature of their coupling. "Teaching your daughter the finer points of taking cock."
Frances could only gasp in response as he seated himself fully inside her, stretching her in ways that bordered between pleasure and pain. Her hands clawed at the polished surface of his desk, seeking purchase as her body adjusted to his invasive presence.
"She'll—ah God!—she'll need to know," Frances panted as Bobby began to withdraw before thrusting back in with measured force. "Better from me than some fumbling court boy who'll rut for thirty seconds before spending himself."
Bobby established a steady rhythm, each thrust deliberate and powerful without yet approaching his full strength. Frances Howard enjoyed rough handling, but he maintained careful control of his superhuman capabilities even during their most vigorous encounters.
"And you think I'll provide more satisfying instruction?" he inquired, maintaining the conversation despite the increasingly primal nature of their coupling. His hands gripped her hips firmly, fingers pressing into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks that would linger for days.
"Fucking hell, yes!" Frances cried out as he increased his pace slightly. "Look at you—unnaturally big, never losing hardness, knowing exactly how to touch a woman..." She gasped as a particularly deep thrust hit something exquisite inside her. "You're not like other men. Catherine deserves more than ordinary."
Bobby's lips curved into a smile at this unknowingly accurate assessment of his non-human nature. If Frances only knew how truly "not like other men" he actually was, she might reconsider offering her daughter quite so enthusiastically.
"And you think she could handle this?" he asked, emphasizing the question with a particularly forceful thrust that drove Frances forward on the desk, scattering papers to the floor. "Not every woman can accommodate what I have to offer."
Frances laughed breathlessly, the sound transforming into a moan as he maintained his rigorous pace. "She's young, but she's a Howard. We're made of sterner stuff than most noble flowers." She looked back over her shoulder, eyes glazed with pleasure but still sharp with that calculating intelligence that made her more than merely physically appealing. "Besides, you could train her gradually. I'd help, of course."
The image this conjured—Frances guiding her daughter through the process of accommodating his considerable size—triggered something primal in Bobby despite his usual detachment. He increased his pace, driving into Frances with greater force that made the heavy desk slide slightly across the polished floor.
"Such a thoughtful mother," he remarked, his voice remaining steady despite the vigor of his movements. "Offering to help your daughter take my cock. Perhaps you'd hold her open while I push inside for the first time? Show her how to breathe through the initial stretch?"
"God yes," Frances gasped, her inner muscles clenching around him as the explicit imagery heightened her arousal. "I'd show her everything. How to use her mouth on you, how to take you deeper than she thinks possible..."
Bobby leaned forward, his chest pressing against her back as he continued his relentless rhythm. "And would you enjoy watching as I filled your daughter's tight young cunt with my cock?" he whispered against her ear, deliberately using the crude language that he knew heightened her pleasure. "Seeing her face the first time she feels stretched beyond what she thought her body could handle?"
"Fuck yes," Frances moaned, her body trembling as his words pushed her closer to climax. "I've thought about it so many times. Watching you take her, teaching her to please you properly..."
Bobby straightened, adjusting his angle to hit the spot that reliably drove Frances toward orgasm. "Perhaps I'd have you both kneel before me," he suggested, his voice maintaining that controlled detachment despite the increasingly explicit scenario he described. "Mother and daughter with their mouths open, competing to see who could take more of my cock down their throat."
Frances' body tensed as these words pushed her to the edge. "She'd—God!—she'd be eager to learn," she gasped, fingers clutching desperately at the desk edge. "I've told her how magnificent you taste when you come."
"Have you now?" Bobby increased his pace, the desk now audibly scraping against the floor with each powerful thrust. "And did you tell her how much I produce? How it fills your mouth to overflowing no matter how quickly you swallow?"
This pushed Frances over the edge, her body convulsing around him as orgasm claimed her. Her inner walls pulsed rhythmically, trying to milk his release as her body responded to both physical stimulation and the taboo imagery his words had conjured.
Bobby maintained his pace through her climax, extending her pleasure with practiced skill as he continued driving into her trembling body. "I haven't decided yet," he mused conversationally, as though they were discussing business arrangements rather than engaged in vigorous coupling. "Whether I'd take her mouth or cunt first. Which would you recommend, as her devoted mother?"
Frances gasped, still riding the aftershocks of her orgasm as he continued his relentless pace. "Her mouth," she panted without hesitation. "She needs to learn to use her tongue properly before anything else. I'd help her, show her how to work the head while I handled what she couldn't fit."
"Such detailed planning," Bobby observed, gradually increasing his pace again as Frances recovered from her initial climax. "Almost as though you've rehearsed these scenarios in your mind repeatedly."
"Every night," Frances admitted shamelessly, her body responding to his renewed vigor with enthusiastic movements of her own. "Lying in bed, fingers between my legs, imagining you teaching Catherine everything you've taught me."
Bobby's hands tightened on her hips, pulling her back to meet each forward thrust with increasing force. "And would you want to watch as I spilled inside her for the first time? Or would you prefer I painted her face with my release while you observed her reaction?"
"Her face," Frances gasped immediately. "I want to see her expression the first time she feels how much you produce. Watch it dripping down her cheeks, coating her lips..." She trailed off as another climax began building rapidly from his continued stimulation.
"Perhaps I'd finish on both of you," Bobby suggested, his pace now approaching the limits of what a normal human male could maintain. "Mother and daughter kneeling together, faces upturned, competing for who could catch more on their tongue."
Frances' second orgasm crashed through her at these words, more intense than the first as her body spasmed around his invading length. "Yes!" she cried, past caring if anyone beyond the study's walls might hear despite the soundproofing technologies Bobby had discreetly installed. "Cover us both! Mark us as yours!"
Bobby allowed his pace to become truly punishing now, driving into Frances with force that would leave her walking uncomfortably tomorrow despite her experienced body's accommodation. The desk creaked beneath them, solid oak construction tested by the vigor of their coupling.
"And afterward," he continued, maintaining the explicit narrative that so clearly heightened her pleasure, "I'd watch you clean my release from your daughter's face with your tongue. Sharing it between you like the devoted mother you claim to be."
"Fuck, Bobby!" Frances gasped, already approaching a third climax despite the brevity of their encounter. Few men could bring her to completion even once; none before Bobby had ever managed multiple orgasms in a single session. "I would. I'd lick every drop from her skin. Show her how to savor the taste."
Bobby reached around her body, fingers finding her sensitive clit with unerring precision as he continued his relentless thrusting. "And then I'd bend her over beside you," he whispered, his words creating vivid imagery that pushed Frances toward another peak. "Mother and daughter side by side while I took turns filling each of you. Making you both come until you begged for mercy."
This final image triggered Frances' third orgasm, her body convulsing so violently that Bobby had to hold her in place to maintain their connection. Her cries echoed in the study despite the room's special acoustic properties, animal sounds of pleasure beyond conscious thought or control.
Only then did Bobby allow his own release, driving deep and holding himself there as he filled Frances with remarkable volume that soon overflowed, running down her inner thighs in viscous rivulets. Unlike normal men, he remained fully hard even as he pumped his seed into her willing body, his superhuman physiology unaffected by normal refractory limitations.
"God," Frances gasped as sensation overwhelmed her, the feeling of being filled so completely pushing her toward yet another climax despite her body's growing exhaustion. "How do you produce so much? It's not natural."
Bobby smiled at this unknowingly accurate observation. "Perhaps I've been saving it for you," he suggested with deliberate misdirection. "Anticipating your visit since you arrived at Whitehaven."
Frances laughed breathlessly, her body still twitching around him despite being thoroughly spent. "Liar. The Countess of Bedford looked entirely too satisfied at dinner. I'd wager you had her this afternoon."
Rather than denying this accurate assessment, Bobby slowly withdrew, his still-hard length glistening with the combined evidence of their coupling. Frances whimpered at the sudden emptiness, her body protesting the loss of his filling presence despite her physical exhaustion.
"Turn around," he directed, his tone carrying absolute authority despite its quiet delivery.
Frances complied immediately, pushing herself upright with trembling arms before turning to face him. Her carefully arranged hair had come partially undone, tendrils framing her flushed face. Her skirts remained bunched around her waist, the expensive fabric hopelessly wrinkled from their vigorous activities.
Bobby still stood at his full height, impressive member jutting outward with no sign of diminishment despite having just reached completion. The sight made Frances lick her lips unconsciously, her body responding to his continued arousal despite her recent exhaustion.
"On your knees," he instructed simply.
Again, Frances obeyed without hesitation, sinking to the polished floor before him with practiced grace that suggested this position had become familiar during their previous encounters. She looked up at him with undisguised hunger despite having already climaxed three times in rapid succession.
"Clean me thoroughly," Bobby directed, his hand moving to the back of her head without applying pressure—the command itself sufficient to ensure compliance.
Frances leaned forward eagerly, her tongue extending to collect the mingled evidence of their coupling from his length with obvious relish. She worked methodically, starting at the base and moving upward with broad strokes before focusing on the sensitive head with more detailed attention.
"You take to this task with impressive enthusiasm," Bobby observed, watching her ministrations with detached appreciation. "Would you show Catherine the same techniques? Guide her head as she learned to please me properly?"
Frances paused in her efforts, looking up at him with renewed arousal evident in her expression. "I'd teach her everything," she confirmed, her tongue circling the broad head of his cock with deliberate slowness. "How to use her lips, her tongue, how to relax her throat to take you deeper..."
Bobby's hand tightened slightly in her hair, guiding her back to her task rather than allowing further conversation. Frances resumed her efforts with increased enthusiasm, clearly aroused by the continued discussion of her daughter's potential participation in these activities.
"Perhaps next time you visit," Bobby suggested as Frances worked diligently to clean every trace of their coupling from his length, "you might bring Catherine for initial introduction to these more private aspects of our potential arrangement."
Frances moaned around his flesh, the vibration creating pleasant sensation as she redoubled her efforts. When she pulled back to respond, her eyes showed genuine excitement beyond mere physical arousal.
"She'll be nervous but eager," Frances predicted, her hand replacing her mouth temporarily as she spoke. "She's asked so many questions about your size, how it feels to take something so substantial inside..."
"And you've answered with enthusiastic detail, I'm sure," Bobby remarked dryly, guiding her mouth back to his flesh with gentle but firm pressure on the back of her head.
Frances didn't respond verbally, but her expression confirmed his assessment as she returned to her task with renewed vigor. Despite having coupled with Frances numerous times over recent months, Bobby maintained perfect control of his responses, allowing her ministrations to provide pleasant sensation without approaching climax until he chose.
After several minutes of her increasingly enthusiastic attention, Bobby decided to reward her efforts. His hand tightened in her hair, holding her in place as he spoke. "I'm going to fill your mouth now," he informed her with characteristic directness. "Swallow what you can and save the rest."
Frances' eyes widened in understanding, her throat working in anticipation as she prepared for what previous experience had taught her would be a challenging volume to accommodate. She hollowed her cheeks, creating additional suction as Bobby allowed himself to approach completion.
When his release came, it arrived with the same unnatural abundance as before, quickly filling Frances' mouth despite her practiced swallowing. She struggled to contain the volume, some escaping to run down her chin despite her best efforts as Bobby maintained his position, continuing to pump his seed onto her eager tongue.
When he finally withdrew, Frances remained kneeling, looking up at him with her mouth still partly filled with his release. Without being instructed, she extended her tongue, displaying what she had saved as evidence of her obedience to his earlier command.
"Good," Bobby acknowledged, his tone approving despite its clinical detachment. "Now imagine sharing that with Catherine. Teaching her to appreciate the taste as you clearly do."
Frances closed her mouth, visibly savoring his release before swallowing with deliberate slowness. "She'll learn to crave it as I do," she predicted, wiping her chin with elegant fingers before licking them clean with unabashed enthusiasm.
Bobby tucked himself away, refastening his breeches with practiced efficiency despite maintaining full hardness. He extended a hand, helping Frances to her feet with gentlemanly courtesy that contrasted sharply with the crude nature of their recent activities.
"You should prepare yourself before returning to your chambers," he suggested, gesturing toward the small adjoining room where he kept washing supplies for precisely these encounters. "Your daughter might still be awake despite the late hour."
Frances laughed, the sound remarkably composed given her disheveled state and the multiple orgasms she'd experienced minutes earlier. "Catherine would hardly be scandalized. She knows perfectly well where I've been." She smoothed her skirts with practiced motions, making a reasonable attempt to restore her appearance despite the obvious signs of vigorous activity. "Besides, seeing evidence of our coupling might answer some of her questions more effectively than mere description."
Bobby raised an eyebrow at this further evidence of Frances Howard's unconventional approach to motherhood. "Nevertheless," he insisted with gentle firmness, "propriety suggests minimal attention to appearance regardless of your daughter's suspected awareness."
Frances sighed dramatically but complied, moving toward the indicated room to make necessary adjustments to her disheveled state. "You can appear perfectly proper when it suits you," she called over her shoulder. "Despite what I've just witnessed between your legs and the vulgarities you whispered in my ear moments ago."
Bobby didn't respond to this observation, instead moving to rearrange the papers that had scattered across his floor during their vigorous coupling. By the time Frances returned, looking considerably more composed despite the lingering flush on her cheeks, he had restored the study to its previous orderly condition.
"Will you consider my proposal seriously?" Frances asked, her tone shifting toward something more genuinely vulnerable than her usual calculated performance. "Catherine truly would benefit from your protection in court circles. Her father left little security despite his family name."
Bobby studied her with that ancient gaze that sometimes made Frances shiver despite her characteristic boldness. "I'll consider all aspects of our potential arrangement," he acknowledged with deliberate ambiguity. "Though circumstances remain complex given current political developments between various factions."
Frances nodded, accepting this non-committal response with better grace than might be expected given the enthusiasm of her proposal. "I understand your primary interests lie elsewhere," she acknowledged with surprising perceptiveness. "The Tudor princess represents different possibilities than a Howard daughter, regardless of how delightfully we might entertain you."
Bobby's expression revealed nothing despite the accuracy of this assessment. "Political considerations remain fluid given recent discoveries regarding succession documentation," he replied with carefully measured words. "Immediate commitments would be premature regardless of personal inclinations."
"Of course," Frances agreed, her pragmatic nature reasserting itself after their momentary physical abandonment. "Though should you decide our arrangement offers sufficient benefits alongside your more significant pursuits, Catherine and I remain enthusiastically available for more... detailed negotiation."
Bobby inclined his head in acknowledgment of this thinly veiled invitation for future encounters similar to the one they had just concluded. "Your position has been noted with appropriate consideration," he assured her with formal phrasing that nonetheless contained undertones of genuine appreciation for her direct approach.
As he escorted Frances to the study door, she paused briefly, looking up at him with uncharacteristic directness that contained none of her usual calculated seduction. "You're not what you appear to be, Baron Kestrel," she observed quietly. "I've known many men throughout my life—nobles, merchants, scholars, soldiers—yet none quite like you."
Bobby maintained his composed expression despite this unexpectedly perceptive comment. "We are all more than initial appearances might suggest," he replied with diplomatic neutrality that neither confirmed nor denied her implied assessment of his extraordinary nature.
Frances smiled, the expression genuinely amused rather than seductive. "Indeed. Though most of us remain fundamentally human beneath our various masks." She reached up, touching his cheek with surprising gentleness. "Whatever you actually are, I find myself grateful for having experienced you, however temporarily."
Before Bobby could formulate appropriate response to this uncomfortably accurate observation, Frances leaned up and kissed him briefly—a gesture containing genuine affection rather than merely physical desire or political calculation. Then she slipped through the door, departing with quiet dignity that contrasted sharply with the abandoned nature of their recent coupling.
Bobby had barely closed the door behind Frances Howard when another series of knocks sounded—the same distinctive pattern indicating Harrington's return. He let out a long-suffering sigh, running his fingers through his hair as he moved back behind his desk.
"Enter."
Harrington appeared with the same efficient movements as before, though a hint of amusement now played at the corners of his normally composed expression.
"Don't tell me—the Countess of Bedford has returned for another sampling despite this afternoon's extensive... consultation?" Bobby asked with sardonic resignation.
"No, my lord," Harrington replied, his voice maintaining its professional neutrality despite the subject matter. "Lady Margaret Fitzwilliam and her younger sister, Lady Eliza. They await your convenience in the east wing guest chambers."
Bobby barked out a surprised laugh. "Lady Margaret actually brought her sister? I made that suggestion in jest last time." He shook his head in genuine amusement. "The girl must be even more naïve than I realized."
"Shall I convey your regrets, my lord?" Harrington asked with practiced diplomacy. "Though I feel obligated to mention they would be severely disappointed after traveling specifically for this... invitation."
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Invitation? I don't recall extending one."
"Lady Margaret indicated you had suggested her sister might benefit from your... personal tutelage," Harrington replied, his expression remaining professionally neutral despite the obvious subtext. "They've taken the liberty of preparing in the azure chamber."
"Did they now?" Bobby leaned back in his chair, a speculative smile playing across his lips. "And who else seeks my attention this evening? I note your careful phrasing suggests the Fitzwilliam sisters aren't the only ones hoping for an audience."
Harrington reached into his doublet, producing several folded notes. "Lady Anne Wentworth slipped this into my hand during dinner," he said, placing the first note on the desk. "The Viscountess Beaumont managed to conceal this in my pocket while passing in the corridor." A second note joined the first. "And I found this tucked into my chamber door—the handwriting suggests Miss Katherine Herbert, though it lacks a signature."
Bobby stared at the collection of notes, then laughed with genuine mirth. "Have I become a common gigolo, Harrington? Servicing the frustrated nobility of England between matters of actual importance?"
"Nothing common about it, my lord," Harrington replied with a rare flash of humor. "Shall I send regrets to these additional... petitioners?"
Bobby waved his hand dismissively. "No need. My displacement energy won't reach critical levels tonight, and I've scheduled matters with Elizabeth for tomorrow afternoon. I can accommodate them all." He picked up one of the notes, breaking the scented seal. "My, the Viscountess is remarkably explicit in her requests."
"The ladies have traveled considerable distances for their... non-academic research," Harrington observed dryly.
Bobby laughed again. "Indeed. Whitehaven has become their heaven for whiteness in more ways than one." He stood, straightening his doublet with practiced efficiency. "Begin with the Fitzwilliam sisters. Inform the others I'll attend them in sequence—the Viscountess at midnight, Lady Anne at two, and Miss Herbert before dawn. Each should prepare accordingly."
"As you wish, my lord," Harrington replied with a perfect bow that contained not a hint of judgment regarding these extraordinary arrangements. "Will you require anything else before your... consultations?"
"Just privacy and discretion," Bobby replied. "Though I doubt either will prevent the inevitable flood of rumors tomorrow." He moved toward the door with fluid grace that suggested boundless energy despite having just thoroughly satisfied Lady Howard. "The servants will be busy changing sheets come morning."