The hour was late, the manor house silent. Randolph Carstairs, the Earl of Wessix, entered his father’s study, contemplating a sanctum that-since the unexpected death of his parents-was now his. At seventeen, he regreted constraints. He still had two uncles as strict guardians. He placed a silver candelabra with four lit candles on a small table before crossing the room, pushing back heavy draperies, opening French doors to let in fragrant, late spring air. Outside, the back terrace was silvered by moonlight, most of the decorative garden coming into bloom.

Now, since he was the Earl, Angelique, his precocious second cousin of fourteen was technically his ward.

He opened a decanter and splashed cognac into a flute of crystal stemware. Alone and feeling maudlin, sittting in what had been his father’s favorite chair, the young lordling contemplated golden liquor in a brandy snifter, wondering if the exercise of tasting some of his father’s expensive brandy had been worth the effort.

His solitude was interrupted. A figure moved into moonlight spilling through open draperies. For an instant, Randolph thought he might be seeing a ghost; but then, the shape resolved. Ethereal, Angelique Delaine stepped into the study,, his orphaned second cousin momentarily surrounded by a silvery nimbus, transformming her into a vision of elfin beauty.

Though a white flannel nightgown covered the girl from neck to ankles, that really didn’t matter. As she stepped closer, moving into the golden glow of lit tapers on a candelabra, the mystical illusion persisted.

Large and luminous, Angelique’s eyes met his. Set in her perfect, oval face, they were a beautiful sapphire, twinkling with mischief. The young Lord Carstairs was shaken, a little angered over being discovered. He cringed back in the overstuffed chair, setting aside the crystal snifter which still held a finger of amber liquid.

“Angelique! You ... are supposed to be in bed,” he stammered, shaken that the girl was there, let alone that she caught him sampling his father’s brandy.

“Ah, yes, my dear Randolph, but two weeks past, you showed me the secret passage between rooms, and those dusty stairs within the walls,” she reminded him, arching brows with a smirk, her voice silky and tinged with amusement. “Alas, you were not in your bedchamber, so I came looking ... and here you are.” She waggled fingers at the crystal goblet. “Is that wine?”

He winced, shaking his head, wondering what payment his precocious cousin might exact now that she discovered him sampling his father’s liquor.

“Not wine. This is father’s ... his expensive French brandy.”

“Naughty, naughty,” Angelique murmured, giving a soft laugh, shaking her head. Unbound and falling to her waist, a cascade of silvery-blonde hair fanned out, catching both moonlight and candle glow. She seemed to float, approaching him, stopping only when her legs were pressing against his knees. The contact was intimate and instantly provocative. Randolph was powerless to offer any reproof. This was Angelique. His Angel. His cousin. His dream.

Loins stirring, he inhaled, drawing deep of her scent. He couldn’t help but feel a rush of desire. The girl always carried a trace of light floral perfume. This night, there was an undercurrent of the erotic, even seductive. His nostrils flared, picking up a trace of something sweet and musky. The fragrance was compelling, instantly stirring a memory. He recalled mornings when, as a small boy, rushing into his mother’s chambers, receiving hugs. He had been repeatedly admonished that such entrances were quite inappropriate, Nevertheless, he was embraced, his face snuggling into her silky penoir and warm belly. Now, the girl before him was stirring images of those childhood embraces.

Deliberately moving her legs against his, Angelique bent forward, Small right hand pushing against his chest as she leaned forward, picking up the brandy snifter. Perfectly shaped, sensual lips kissed the rim. Brows arching, eyes dancing in flickering candlelight, she tipped up the crystal stemware. sinewy, like that of a cat, the pink tip of her tongue slid out, slowly touching and tasting the brandy. Mesmerized by the action, Randolph could only stare, recalling a time weeks past during Christmas celebrations. Then, though only thirteen, the girl had taken his hand, dragging him into an alcove where somebody had suspended a kissing bough. Any surprised had been cut short when she kissed him full on the lips, her mouth open and wet. Then, that same, clever little tongue darted into his mouth for the first time. Quick and startling, that moment had rocked him to the core, stirring erotic notions night after night over following month.

Angelique crinkled the bridge of her nose, then took a sip. After a moments consideration, she tossed back what little brandy remained, swallowing, wincing and giving a slight cough.

“This really is vile stuff,” she complained, clearing her throat, giving another delicate cough. “I can’t imagine why adults relish drinking it. How much have you had?”

Randolph held up thumb and forefinger, their tips barely separated. “Only that much.” He shrugged. “Barely a swallow.” He gave a shudder. From the age of twelve, he had been permitted a little wine at dinner, but never anything stronger, certainly not spirits, and especially not his father’s expensive French cognac. He had already resolved that this night’s experience would be his last. The flaming liquor had almost been too much. His throat was no longer burning.

“I agree. Thought it tasted awful. Like you said, I can’t understand why they drink it.”

“They don’t ... not any more...” Angelique replied, reminding the youth that his parents, like her own, were dead. She put the snifter down beside the candelabra. “Perhaps, they drank so they had an excuse to misbehave, like my parents and their friends were wont to do at parties?”

She bent over him, a distracted smile creasing features.

“My mother became quite amorous every time she drank brandy. Not always with my father. Likewise, he would slip away with one or another woman, and sometimes, with one of the young men.” Face leaning very close, she looked into his eyes, then slid her palm over his cheek. “If you give me a kiss, I won’t tell your guardians.”

“You wouldn’t tell anyway,” he murmured, shivering, too aware of a delicious stirring in his groin.

She let slip a titter. Though fearful of consequences if discovered, he couldn’t resist her demand. At some level, he already guessed that Angelique really didn’t need the excuse. He was more than willing to surrender the demanded tribute.

Though orphaned little more than a year and a half past, Angelique refused to mourn. Not surprising, since over the past six or seven years, her parents paid the girl little attention, the frivolous couple usually leaving her in the care of a nurse or governess. They were almost always away on the continent, continually touring and indulging themselves in unspoken delights. Then, they had died in a boating accident.

twice before his own parent’s death from influenza, Randolph overheard his parents in conversation about her cousin Estell’s behaviour; and the woman’s interest in other men. Beyond that had been mention of her husband, and his illicit interest in young men. Though polyamory trists were seldom mentioned by ‘polite society’, and then only in whispers, Randolph wasn’t unaware, and he could read very well, thank you. His father’s library cabinets had a wide selection of erotic literature and pornographic art folios.

An only child, Angelique became her aunt’s ward, sent to live with the Earl and Countess at Wessex Manor not long after her parents had been drowned in the Mediterranean yachting accident.

Drawn by Angelique’s eyes, RANDOLPH felt mesmerized. The attraction between cousins had been immediate, his enfatuation starting the first time she smiled at him when she was only thirteen. Now, a year after that Christmas kiss, Her tempting behavior and his lusty attraction resulted in more than a few stolen instants where she favoured him with a kiss. One day, she guided him into a playroom closet, then down onto a floor strewn with cushions and old blankets. They had a few intense minutes during which their mouths explored, becoming wanton. Despite their clothing, Angelique’s tongue excited him like never before; but, a rapidly hardening erection pressing into her embarrassed him, drawing a giggle from the girl. Then, before further intimacies could be explored, they heard voices calling for them. The sudden risk of discovery had them parting, scrambling out of the closet before anybody checked the playroom.

“Our secret as always?” she prompted, lips a whisper away from his.

“Always,” he murmured, flushing, her closeness and enticing scent provoking a familiar response. His groin clenched, his pulse quickening.

“Forever,” he added in a whisper, shivering as delicious sensations began coursing through his loins. The result was inevitable. When he glanced down, Angelique followed his eyes and giggled. His cock was already hard, creating a noticeable bulge in his silk wrapper.

Despite her inviting behaviour, Randolph couldn’t imagine a girl of her class or age fully understanding. He moved his hands down, trying to surreptitiously cover the jutting tent.

“Before I moved into the moonlight, I was watching you, and playing with my cunny,” she stated boldly, wafting fingers beneath his nostrils. Randolph experienced another startling reaction. His nostrils flared, taking in her musky, curiously enticing fragrance. It was the scent he recalled which had lingered about his mother on those mornings he rushed in to embrace her.

Angelique pressed fingers against his lips, insisting, “taste. “i’m sweet there too.”

Not a little distracted by a surging groin, Randolph couldn’t resist. His mouth opened. He licked, then drew in her two fingertips. She breathed out a delighted sigh as he took them. He licked, suckling, tasting something completely new. The flavour was curious, slightly salty, sweet and extraordinary.

Angelique made a quiet, purring sound, watching him with rapt attention, delighted when he grasped her wrist, continuing to suckle her fingers.

“I know you like me, Randolph,” she said breathily. “But, how much?”

Her legs parted, trapping his knees between spread thighs and folds of the chaste flannel nightgown. Under the concealing hands, his rigid cock pulsed and jumped. Completely intoxicated by the taste, by her closeness, and by her provocative words, Randolph groaned.

“I like you ... a lot. You know I do.”

“Why, cousin?”

“Because ... you’re beautiful, smart and intriguing,” he breathed.

“Is that all?” she prompted, thighs pressing tighter, rubbing back and forth against his trapped knees.

“Your kisses!” he blurted, releasing her wrist, gulping audibly. “You tempt me, and you shine, and I know you are more intelligent than me. I love you! I love everything about you. I can’t help wanting you!”

She gave him a smile, beaming, stroking his face with wet fingers, every move seductive, generating even more excitement in a mind already experiencing adolescent turmoil.

“How am I intriguing?”

Randolph tried to think, wanting their midnight encounter to go further. You seem much older than fourteen,” he said carefully. “Like I said, intelligent. Smart and very enticing.”

“I am that,” she agreed, giving him another smile. “When I was but eleven, a governess claimed that I was horribly precocious. Another suggested I was too bright and much too knowing for a proper lady.” She brushed fingertips over and around his lips. “I really want to kiss you,” she offered, removing her hand, wetting lips, leaning forward until her nose brushed his. “Do you want my mouth on yours?”

He groaned again, too aware of the erection pulsing beneath his hands. He managed a nod, rasping breathily, “you know I do. Yes!”

“Shall I kiss you with my tongue? Say please,” she said teasingly.

“God, yes, please!” he whispered, reaching up with his left hand to lightly brush back her hair, fingertips caressing one flawless cheek.

Angelique glanced down, seeing that the other hand remained cupped over his middle. She giggled again. Instead of kissing him, she straightened, then reached down, both hands pulling up the hem of her flannel night rail. Randolph gaped as the garment rose, slowly exposing bare knees, then thighs and much more. At the apex of creamy legs, there was a hint of downy, blonde hair that caught candlelight, startling him. Even more, puffy vulva folds rivetted his attention. Catching the light from candles, there were tiny, glistening pink tongues protruding from a cleft in her nether lips.

For an instant, the forbidden sight burned into his mind, then she was scrambling up, straddling him, settling moist, naked flesh over the hand cupping his groin.

Pillowy heat pressed into the back of that remaining hand. Her labia parted, warm, slick juices wet against his skin. He gasped, jerking his right hand from beneath her naked folds. Instantly, he caught the heady scent which had been on those fingers sucked into his mouth.

“Angelique,” he groaned, “you shouldn’t!”

“Of course I shouldn’t,” Angelique murmured, smiling and licking her lips. She rocked against him and he shuddered. With no pretense, she murmured silkily, “there’s something intriguing ... and rather hard beneath your robe.”

His cheeks flamed, his erection hardening, hips lifting, straining to increase the intimate contact.

Delight shone in her dancing sapphire eyes. “The time we kissed in the playroom closet, I felt your member through our clothing. You were hard like this, and I knew you wanted to put it in my cunny,” she purred, rocking her sex against his. “This would feel even better if there were no garments between us.”

“We shouldn’t,” Randolph moaned. Embarrassed, excited, fearful and hopeful all at once. He found tangled thoughts spiraling in on quickening sensations. He recalled each of those snatched moments when they had kissed, surrendering to the enjoyment of brief, daring interludes. This night, however, presented an opportunity for much more. It was past midnight, all the servants asleep. his parents were gone-dead from the epidemic. They hadn’t been on the estate when the sickness took them. Away at a country fait, they never returned home ... Before sneaking into his father’s library sanctum to sample a take of brandy, Randolph had checked the mansion to ensure he wouldn’t be disturbed by servants or his guardians. The night porter was dozing on his bench just inside the front doors. Angelique’s governess and his designated guardians were in their chambers, both doors locked, their apartments silent. Randolph expected that none of the household staff would be stirring from warm beds before four or five o’clock.