Behind Closed Doors of Desire

Chapter 1

"Young Maud, this is that Genevieve’s Home. Ever since the Lords went off to the Academy, Miss Tress has been coming here every other day. I suspect this Lady Seraphine has Mister Jorvik hiding out in her house..."

"Shut up. The Baker girl is not the sort to get mixed up with an Ice Man." Hearing the guard’s words, Henry Hawthorne shot him a cold glare. The striking features of Mister Jorvik darkened further. Hawthorne House had only him as the legitimate heir; the rest were the Baker sisters. His sister, Isabella, had been raised closely by him since she was a child, and he had always cherished her deeply, especially as she grew into her beauty—a charming little berry ripe for potential suitors. But now, as she matured, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. His instincts told him that Bella had been getting into trouble. His concerns were confirmed when his shadow guards reported that she had been frequenting Westside Town to visit Lady Seraphine. Waves of unease crashed over him.

"Right, right, I spoke out of turn. It’s just that, at Johnson's Tofu Shop, she and her cousin, Lord Bernard, have been seen together..." As Sam the Baker trailed off, he glanced at the nearby Richard the Scribe, then leaned closer to Henry. "Word has it that the young widow at the shop runs her little business while her cousin studies abroad. But behind the scenes... it's scandalous! That woman... Sir Donovan's quite the spectacle! I spent days lurking outside Johnson's shop, and locals say that even though she hasn’t had children, somehow she still manages to produce milk every day after making the tofu. They claim she mixes her own milk into the dessert. I even treated myself to a few bowls..."

Henry’s heart sank. It was a disgraceful story, indeed. He frowned deeply, his anger aimed not only at the rumors circulating about Lady Seraphine but also at her influence over his sister. How could Bella, so innocent and naive, fall under the spell of such a woman? The thought of her being enticed into doing something so inappropriate—making tofu with that woman's milk—made him burn with fury. He felt an overwhelming urge to storm into the Bernard Cottage and confront that scandalous woman at once.

"Young Maud, Miss Tress is already inside, and I can grab them for you right now..."

"Grab? No! My sister has her dignity; how can I act rashly?" Though every fiber of his being wanted to bring Bella back immediately, the implication that a couple of clumsy guards might burst in and find her in a compromising state, doing something ridiculous like imitating Lady of Gervais, was unimaginable. Drawing a deliberate breath, composed but anxious, Young Maud finally spoke: "I'll go meet with that woman myself. You all stay here."

"Yes, sir..."

With that, Mister Jorvik walked away, his expression grave as he headed toward Bernard Cottage's Little Courtyard.

“Oh, Lady Seraphine, dear sister, what has happened? Are you not well?”

Chapter 2

Henry Hawthorne, as was his routine, entered through the side door of Bernard Cottage with the key Lord Bernard had given him. Today, however, the courtyard was unusually quiet. With Bernard away on his studies abroad, the Mistress’s door was naturally locked. Seeking some company, he quietly made his way into the room of his sister, Lady Seraphine, hoping for a chat. To his surprise, as soon as he stepped inside, he spotted a medicine bowl on the little table, and there, languidly resting against a bamboo pillow, was Lady Constance, known as the Ice Woman, her long hair cascading around her as she slept soundly.

Although Lady Constance was eight years older than Henry, her beauty was striking enough to make her appearance captivating. Her delicate face had a rosy hue as if one could squeeze dew from it, making her look almost like a younger version of Henry. The climate at Hawthorne Castle was warmer than in most areas, and here, it was not uncommon for both married and unmarried ladies like Celine to enjoy sleeping in the nude, often waking up with a sheen of fragrant sweat. Lady Constance, in particular, was notably voluptuous. Her two ample breasts resembled perfectly round, ripe melons, lazily draped on the bed as she lay on her side, drawing envy from Miss Elowen, who glimpsed the scene. However, she'd heard Lady Seraphine mention that having such abundance could be burdensome, especially in summer, and so Elowen felt more sympathy than envy.

“Ah, Miss Hawthorne, what a surprise! Aren’t you supposed to be at the academy today?” Lady Genevieve, still recovering from seeing off her friend, had taken a moment to indulge in some sugar water. Feeling a bit lethargic from the heat that accompanied it, she had snuck in an extra minute of rest, only to be greeted by Miss Elowen's unexpected arrival. Bashfully, Lady Constance sat up, her face flushing red in embarrassment at the thought of exposing herself to the innocent Miss Elowen. She quickly brushed her dark hair, rubbed her eyes, and softly offered, “Miss Hawthorne, please have a seat while I change into something more appropriate.” With that, Lady Constance slipped away to a small adjoining room designed for changing and cleansing.

Meanwhile, Henry, having just come in, had momentarily forgotten to ask Sam the Baker for details about the layout of the Little Courtyard. He entered, feeling slightly disoriented. However, his gaze was quickly drawn to the delicate embroidered slippers belonging to his sister. Fearing that approaching them would disturb her, he carefully steered himself into a nearby nook to avoid causing any commotion in the room.

Chapter 3

Henry Hawthorne couldn't believe his luck. He had just silently climbed through the back window of the midwife's quarters and was standing close to the midwife, Agnes, when the curtain to a small alcove swept open. In walked Lady Genevieve, clad only in a sheer robe, her expression languid and unworried. Henry froze on the spot.

His childhood had been overshadowed by his grandfather's indiscretions. His grandfather, the old Duke, had been a notorious womanizer; one of the worst incidents was catching him attempting to assault Henry's own mother. In a twisted form of revenge, his grandfather had even kept two concubines who looked strikingly similar to Henry's mother. His nanny, lacking shame, had also taken the opportunity to seduce the old Duke, and had since stayed in the Royal City to attend him. Consequently, Henry loathed such lasciviousness and detested women who threw themselves at men in such a shameless manner. In his mind, besides his beloved mother, who had been taken to the border town by his father, only his sister, Isabella, was pure and adorable. He believed that women should be as innocent and lovely as his sister; anyone else was just a worthless harlot in his eyes.

Yet now, as he stood staring openly at Lady Genevieve's voluptuous form, Henry couldn't help but feel a fire ignite within him. Her skin was as smooth and pink as ripened peaches, her waist slender and easily held. Because she was turned slightly away from him, her plump and rounded backside seemed to jut out provocatively. Watching this captivating woman, Henry felt his heart race uncontrollably, mentally cursing, "How can such a brazen hussy exist?"

Lady Genevieve seemed blissfully unaware of Henry's presence. She reached for a silky yellow ribbon hanging nearby and used it to tie back her long, ebony hair, letting it cascade like a waterfall over one shoulder. She then began to expertly massage her full, engorged breasts, her deft fingers coaxing out droplets of milk. Henry wished he could have turned away from such an obscene scene, but he was rooted to the spot. His face burned, and he realized with a shock that his body was reacting in ways it had never done before.

She took out a sea-blue bowl and used it to collect the milk, squeezing her ample breasts until they sprayed thick streams of milk into the bowl. This intimate act only served to heighten the heat Henry felt. He was appalled at his own arousal, feeling his erection strain against his breeches—something that had never happened before. Frustrated and embarrassed, he clutched at himself, trying to regain control.

"Damned harlot," Henry muttered under his breath, struggling to steady himself. But then he heard a strange moan and looked up to see an even more shocking sight. Lady Genevieve was not only milking herself but was also rubbing her smooth, hairless sex with a coarse towel. As she did, clear fluid escaped from her most intimate place.

“Oh no, not again,” Lady Genevieve murmured to herself, looking resigned. She had grown accustomed to her body's peculiarities over the years, though it still embarrassed her. Her periods had always triggered milk production, and, apparently, vaginal arousal as well. Being a widow, she had no intimate partner to help relieve her desire, and this reality only deepened her sorrow. Tears welled up in her eyes as she massaged her breasts to keep the milk from wetting her gown.

Henry, overwhelmed by the sight, felt a hot rush trickle from his nose. He watched, paralyzed, as Lady Genevieve continued to moan softly and wipe herself with the towel.

The tranquility was broken by a noise. Lady Genevieve looked up, startled by the sudden sound of something falling.

Chapter 4

Lady Seraphine blushed as she nervously rubbed the fabric of her blouse. The Ice Man, her companion, quickly pulled out a towel dampened with water, wiping his legs nervously while eyeing her with concern. "What’s going on, Miss Hawthorne?" he asked, glancing outside.

“Nothing! I accidentally knocked over your embroidered stand, but I've already cleaned it up,” replied Little Miss Elowen, just as she pushed aside the curtain to enter. “Sister, why are you taking so long to get dressed? Let me help you!” she teased, her laughter echoing in the room.

But Henry, arriving a bit more seriously, caught sight of Lady Seraphine delicately wrapped in her clothing. His eyes widened in astonishment. “Wow! Sister, why don’t you have any hair yet?” Henry managed to say, still a child himself, barely past his first year here. Though Lady Seraphine was well into her teenage years, her youth appeared almost innocent. Yet, at the moment she felt the heat of his gaze, she instinctively covered her mouth, forcing Little Miss Elowen to relinquish her curious probing.

“You naughty Little Miss Elowen,” Lady Seraphine managed to say. Even after years as a widow, she felt the sting of blush return at Henry's insensitive comment; she had never had her innocence tarnished by Mr. Jorvik. Furthermore, as a shy and unsuspecting girl, she was no match for their teasing.

Unfazed, Little Miss Elowen continued like a mischievous sprite, tugging at her clothing and demanding, “I want to say it! Sister, Lady Seraphine doesn't have any hair! Let me check!” With a grin, she was ready to leave decorum behind.

“Stop! Don’t touch! Seriously!” Lady Seraphine squealed with a mixture of alarm and embarrassment, her height somewhat defiant against the younger girl’s antics. Yet, in moments, the strong girl found herself pinned on the bench by Henry, who was unconsciously adding fuel to the playful chaos.

A nearby Henry Hawthorne, watching from the shadows, felt his cheeks burn witnessing his sister’s embarrassment. Not only were Lady Seraphine’s stripped emotions on display, but the milk he had recently spilled made it even more scandalous. As the lady struggled, Jorvik found himself bemused, unable to turn away. He even wondered why he wouldn’t want to join the fun, yet when he noticed his face getting too warm and the blood rushing to his head, he quickly turned to flee out of the window, clamping a hand over his nose.

“Young Maud, what happened to you? You’re injured! Let me take you to the physician!” shouted Sam the Baker, who was stationed outside to look after her.

“Get lost. Return to the court,” Mr. Jorvik barked curtly, embarrassment overwhelming his judgment as he covered half of his face with his hand. Meanwhile, young Henry hopped on his horse and galloped back to Dancewell Manor, internally raging at Lady Renata, questioning her character and those she associated with. How could his sister mingle with such licentious women? Had Renata not thought of her status? He had charged inside to drag her back from Lady Seraphine’s grasp.

Once locked away in the solitude of his chamber, Henry found himself still affected by the day’s chaotic events. The afternoon sun beat down too harshly, and soon exhaustion consumed him. He drank the refreshing tea Celine had prepared, then collapsed onto the soft couch, snoring deeply. Yet thoughts lingered. Whenever his sister returned, he would make sure to lecture her about her associations with such immodest wenches, picturing how Renata could be misled.

“Winston! Winston! You’ve finally woken up—come, I’ve made stew for you!”

Henry had been lying for some time when the soft voice called out to him. Winston was the name his mother frequently used. Perhaps she had returned. With hope, he opened his eyes, only to find beautiful Maidservant Celine before him, her form elegant and reminiscent of his sister's innocent charm, yet there was something captivating in her eyes. No fabric adorned her body as she leaned in slightly too close. The unexpected sign of vulnerability made his breath catch—was this Lady Renata’s immoral behavior at play?

“Wench! What on earth are you doing here?” Henry gasped, struggling against the bewildering sensations that overwhelmed him.

Chapter 5

"Winston, what are you talking about? Lady Johnson is your wife!" Hearing Mister Jorvik call her a shameless woman, Lady Genevieve felt utterly wronged. She shot him a sultry glance filled with both indignation and longing, and before long, tears began to well up in her eyes.

“W-What?” Seeing Lady Genevieve suddenly start to cry was a sight that tugged at Mister Jorvik's heartstrings. In an instant, he found himself softening, sitting up in a hurry and reaching for his sleeve to wipe her tears. But Lady Genevieve gazed at him with a tender look, her voice soft and coaxing. "Winston, come take your medicine."

“Uh-mm...” When he heard her ask him to take some medicine, Mister Jorvik thought she meant some sort of herbal concoction. But as he glanced for the bowl, Lady Genevieve suddenly pressed his head against her soft, ample bosom, offering her full, sweet-smelling breasts right into his mouth. Stunned, Henry sat there in shock, struggling to maintain his composure against the sweet temptation before him.

The taste... it was heavenly. How could something so delicious exist? His eyes widened, staring at her curvaceous figure. As he lost himself in the moment, instinctively, his hands began to roam, pushing and kneading her soft, supple skin.

“Ahh, Winston! Yes, harder! Suck it like that!” Lady Genevieve squealed in delight, urging him on as her delicate arms held his head tighter against her bosom. “Oh, Winston! That feels so good! You’re making me so happy!”

The sound of her moans echoed in his ears, and Mister Jorvik felt overwhelmed. How could she be so wanton yet so intoxicating? Her body was fragrant and plush, like nothing he had ever experienced before. Lost in her allure, he greedily lapped at her sweetness, feeling as though he was drowning in ecstasy. It was sheer bliss, but soon he realized she was holding him too tightly, nearly suffocating him. Desperate for air, he tilted his head back only to feel a sharp pain at the tip of his nose, jolting him awake.

“Sir! Sir? You’re finally awake! You scared me half to death!” As he opened his eyes, instead of the voluptuous woman, he found himself staring at his sweet little sister, Isabella. In her hand was a delicate hairpin resembling a dragonfly, and Henry felt a sense of confusion wash over him. The ache in his head reminded him of an unsettling dream, and he frowned at her. “What are you doing here?”

With a bewildered glance around the room, Henry soon realized he had just been dreaming. He breathed a sigh of relief, but then, thinking of the widow he had seen earlier at the House of Bernard, his gaze turned thoughtful as he studied Isabella closely. “Where did you go today?”

“I went to the tofu shop! Look, I brought back several bowls. Sam and Richard asked me to share some with them too!” Cheery and proud, Isabella moved to grab a bowl from the table. The sight of the white, glistening tofu momentarily sent a wave of memories crashing back—specifically, the vivid imagery from his dream. Suddenly, dread washed over Henry. “Stop! Don’t move! Don’t touch anything!”

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