Chelsea's Downfall Ch. 03

His lips pressed roughly against hers and Chelsea could feel them beginning to bruise. Her complaints went unheard as Henry curled his fingers around the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head backward and forcing his tongue inside her mouth to meet hers when he felt a sharp pain. He withdrew instantly, swallowing the metallic taste of blood. "You bit me!" He snarled.

Chelsea backed away across the bed, trying to put some distance between them. She was in trouble now and she knew it but all she could think of was to get away. Growling like an animal, Henry grabbed her ankle and dragged her back towards him before raising his hand to teach her a lesson. He struck her across the cheek with enough force to send her spinning face first into the mattress. She let out a sweet little gasp of surprise and then turned to look back up at him, tears welling on her eyes and a bruise forming already across her cheek bone. "Sir, Please!" She cried, large tears spilling down her flushed face. "Please let me go."

Even now she still had the audacity to question him. He watched her brush the tears from her cheeks and tenderly touch her swollen cheek bone where he had hit her, wincing as her fingers made contact with the bruise. Ever so gently, he cupped her chin in his hands and turned her face up towards his. "It's okay." He said, stroking her hair in what he clearly thought was a comforting manner. "If you do what I say, I won't hit you again. I promise. If you do stay here and do as you're told I shan't tell your master how you've displeased me."

"D- d- displeased you?" She stuttered.

"Displeased me." Henry confirmed, nodding. "And assaulted me."

He gestured to his tongue which had stopped bleeding but still bore the marks of her teeth.

Chelsea shivered violently, shaking her head and making her luscious curls bounce about her face. Even now, she had no idea how appealing she was to him, her snow white skin flushed with fear and bruising on one side, tears making her eyes shine, and her dress ruffled from her struggles. She tried to protest again but Henry pushed her back and pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle her complaint. He leaned over her and whispered threateningly and his hand glided down her thigh. "Now are you going to be a good little servant or am I going to have to recommend your dismissal to my cousin?"

His hand grasped the hem of her dress and began lifting it.

"Henry?" A voice from the door startled them both and Henry span to see Lady Westerling in the doorway.

"Elizabeth!" Henry greeted her, lurching slightly as he stood.

Chelsea sat upright, still trembling and tear tracks visible on her face. She was grateful for the interruption but terrified and ashamed of what the lady must think of her, laying so suggestively underneath the Lord with her skirts about her knees and her stockings on display.

"What's going on?" Lady Westerling asked, glancing at Chelsea as she attempted to right her appearance. "Is this maid being inappropriate, Henry?"

Henry looked back to Chelsea's face longingly and then back to the Lady, angry that she had disturbed his plans. "Not at all. The poor thing fell and hit her face on the bed post."

Lady Westerling walked over the Chelsea and lifted her face to inspect the bruise. "Clumsy girl." She chastised, "Get out and try to me more graceful in future."

Chelsea nodded and scurried out, barely remembering to curtsey as she left.

Lady Westerling perched herself on the bed, where Chelsea had been laying in shock only a moment ago, and pushed her gown off one shoulder seductively. "You left the feast rather abruptly, Henry." She whined, "I was rather hoping we could eat dessert together."

Henry smirked and nodded. "I was hoping for that too, Elizabeth."

Chelsea ran down the hallways and up the servants stairs to her pokey little bedroom as fast as her shaking legs could carry her. She was struggling to breath as she threw herself onto her bed, weeping.

The other servants had yet to return from the feast so she had the room to herself for an hour or so more. She laid crying and shaking for a few moments before composing herself. It wouldn't do for anybody to discover her in this state. Quickly, as though scared someone may come in and see her, she undressed and dove underneath her thin bed covers. She lay there for some time, pretending to be asleep as the other girls came in and undressed and went to sleep themselves, too exhausted to chat about the feast. Chelsea could hear them snoring softly and Heather, who lay in the bed closest would murmur occasionally in her slumber, but sleep would not find Chelsea. She lay awake and rigid, unable to rid herself of the memory of Henry Greene leaning over her, his weight upon her chest and the smell of brandy in her nostrils.

The sun finally filtered through the small attic window, making a pattern of tall shadows on the wall opposite, and Chelsea rose, wishing to start her work early in hopes that some honest labour would clear her mind.

She washed and dressed and then headed down to the gardens, her hair falling in loose curls down her back. Spring had brought with it some lovely fruits and Old Cook wished to make the most of them so Chelsea picked all the ripe berries she could see and took them into the kitchen. Cook herself hadn't even risen so Chelsea made the most of the quiet kitchen and began making the bread. She had the first batch in the oven and was in the middle of kneading the second when Old Cook came in, a couple of other maids following her and rubbing sleep from their eyes. Mary and Jane were never of any use in the morning.

"Heavens Chelsea!" Cook exclaimed upon seeing her work, "What time have you been up since, you silly girl?"

Chelsea smiled wanly, plonking the dough into a bowl and covering it with a damp towel to let it rise. "I had trouble sleeping. I thought I might as well make myself of use."

The other two girls smiled to each other and sat down, happy that their mornings' work was complete before they had even risen. Old Cook scowled at them and smacked them across their backs with a cloth.

"Get yourselves up, you lazy wenches! You can go into the garden and gather the vegetables for lunch. Here's a list of what I need."

Mary glanced warily at the list, refusing to take it. "I can't read."

Cook rolled her eyes. "So you're stupid as well as lazy. Can you?"

Jane was almost asleep again, leaning against the table with her eyes half shut.

"Wake up you silly little girl!" Old Cook bellowed, making Jane and Mary both leap to attention. "Can you read?"

Jane nodded sleepily "Yes Ma'am."

Cook shook her head in frustration and thrust the list at the girl. "You go gather the vegetables. Take that basket with you." She turned back to Mary, "And you go to the larder and fetch a couple of wheels of cheese. Anything but the smelly stuff, you know his Lordship hates it."

Chelsea didn't wait for orders but simply continued with her usual duties. It was always difficult when there were so many guests and Lord Manderly usually hired extra staff for the stay, but for some reason he hadn't on this occasion. This meant triple the work for all of the servants and some were less willing to pitch in than others.

"Where's your cap, girl?" Old Cook asked, gesturing to Chelsea's loose hair.

Chelsea swallowed and tried to push down the memory of Lord Greene sweeping it off her head and grasping handfuls of her hair.

"I couldn't find it this morning. It must have fallen off somewhere and I didn't realise." She said, her voice shooting up an octave with the lie.

Cook opened one of the kitchen drawers and produced a ribbon. She held it out. "Well at least get your hair tied back before I start cooking and singe it."

Taking the ribbon, Chelsea thanked Cook and used it to pull her unruly curls back away from her face. She realised her mistake as soon as she saw the look of horror on Cook's face. "Where on Earth did you get that frightful bruise, young lady?"

She blushed and raised her hand to touch the tender flesh around her cheek bone. The swelling had subsided but left behind a dark grey bruise that marred her pretty face. It was still painful to the touch and as her dainty fingers danced across it she was reminded of Lord Greene's anger. Hopefully she would be able to avoid him for the rest of his visit.

"I fell." He voice was barely above a whisper.

"You fell?" Old Cook asked, disbelief written plainly across her face.

"Yes Ma'am. I was turning down the guest bedrooms and tripped. I hit my face on the bedpost."

It was the lie Lord Greene had told Lady Westerling. She thought if she had to lie in order to maintain her dignity, she might as well be consistent.

James awoke to the feel of Lady Elizabeth Westerling's tongue gliding over his manhood. She took him in her mouth and began to move her lips up and down his shaft like she was born to do it, and yet he felt nothing. He's fucked her last night with the thought of Chelsea still in his mind and keeping him rigid, but now in the cold light of morning, he wanted the real thing. Lady Westerling bored him and he'd already taken as much pleasure from her as he thought she could offer.

"Stop."

She did.

She looked up at him with droopy tired eyes and spittle on her lips. "Problem, Henry?" She enquired, tilting her head to one side to make her messy blonde hair swish across her shoulders.

Henry would have found her attractive once, but now she was the same as every other whore he'd fucked. Used. Like bad meat.

And he knew he certainly hadn't been the first. By the loose feel of her flesh, many other men had gone there before him, though there were no rumours of the Lady being anything less than virtuous.

He wanted Chelsea. All he had been able to think about all night was her sweet face and now that he was sober enough to think clearly he could come up with a more cunning plan than simply ravishing the girl as she was turning down the bed. If word got to his cousin that he was assaulting the staff, Lord Manderly would send him away. He would have to be clever about it. Surely the little waif would be serving breakfast. He could begin there.

"What are you thinking about?" Lady Westerling asked, her voice whiney and incessant.

"Breakfast." Henry stated. Then he stepped out of bed and dressed without giving her a second glance.