London, April 1901

The Earl of Culligan was enjoying the spring sunshine in St James’s Park in central London. Even though he had only arrived from Dublin a few days earlier, he had established a very pleasant afternoon routine encompassing a circuit of the lake and a stop for refreshment at a tea house on the edge of Birdcage Walk. From his seat outside, he could see Big Ben rising above the trees. A steady stream of hansom cabs and the occasional motor car passed him, and in the park, finely dressed gentlemen and ladies mingled with clerks and office girls. He watched them, his mind drifting idly as he smoked a cigarette.

A couple detached themselves from the throng and headed towards the tearoom. He noticed the girl straight away. Even though plainly dressed in maid’s clothing and hatless, she was remarkably attractive, with unusually short dark hair that left her neck exposed. As she walked past his table, he was transfixed by her luminous green eyes and full lips. She gave him a glance and a quick smile, moving easily and gracefully, her splendid figure all too obvious under her tightly buttoned coat.

A beauty, no less. A full-blown English beauty, he thought to himself. They sat down at a table about ten feet from him, and he continued to study her discreetly. She did not look happy; in fact, her face was distressed, and as he strained to listen to their conversation, he had a good look at the man who was with her.

He did not like the look of him at all. A coarse, strongly built, fellow with a rough beard and thick dark hair, dressed in workman’s clothes. As he watched, the man reached over the table and grasped the woman’s upper arm.

She twisted away and he heard her say, ‘No, I won’t.’

He glanced around. The only other couple sitting outside had just left and were walking towards the pavement on Birdcage Walk.

A chair pushed back noisily, and he saw the woman was now standing rubbing her arm. She looked over at him, an unspoken appeal in her eyes. It was enough to spur him into action. Blood pumping, he rose and strode purposefully across to the table.

‘Is this man bothering you, Miss?’ he asked, before turning his glare on the man, who was now also rising from his seat.

‘I don’t really know who he is,’ she said. Her voice had a thick West Country burr, he realised, as her words tumbled over each other. ‘My mistress told me to meet her here at four o’clock, and when I was walking across the park, well, he just started talking to me and then followed me here.’ She lowered her eyes, clearly embarrassed. ‘He made an improper suggestion. Wants me to go with him. I told him I am not that sort of girl. Then he grabbed my arm.’

Culligan turned on the man in fury. ‘You absolute bounder. Get out of it, or I will raise my cane to you, sir. Go on. Away with you!’

But the man stared belligerently back and stood his ground. ‘Oo are you, anyway?’

The Irishman drew himself up and hissed, ‘I am the Earl of Culligan and if you are not gone from this place in ten seconds then I will not be responsible for my actions.’

‘Olright, I’m going. Pretty girl, ain’t she?’ He leered across the table. Then, as Culligan raised his cane, he turned and shuffled off. They watched him go in silence.

‘Dreadful man. Come to my table, my dear. What a terrible experience for you. What is your name?’ Culligan gently took her elbow and steered her back to where his coffee pot waited.

‘Mary Felix, sir.’

‘Well I am the Earl of Culligan, but my friends call me Alfred.’

‘Oh no, sir, I couldn’t do that. I’m just a lady’s maid, and what with you being royalty and all.’ She looked shocked at the thought.

He laughed, delighted by her naivety. ‘I can assure you I am not of royal blood, Mary, just a common or garden Irish earl. And Alfred will do.’

‘Mary, is that you?’ a voice called out from behind him.

‘My mistress is here,’ said the girl, glancing over his shoulder.

He turned and just managed to stifle an exclamation. Another startlingly attractive woman was bustling over from the path. Her blonde hair was styled in tight ringlets and piled high and she was dressed in a pale blue dress with a small matching hat and carried a rolled-up parasol. As she neared their table, he realised she was older than Mary – about thirty, he guessed.

He stood up to greet her and, as she met his eyes, for the second time in less than ten minutes he found himself bewitched. They were a bottomless shade of brown that seemed to ebb and flow in front of him as amusement, arrogance, passion, promise, and delight flitted across them in a beguiling kaleidoscope. He stared, momentarily transfixed.

In the background, he heard Mary speaking and caught ‘the Earl of Culligan’.

She held out her hand and he shook it, rapidly recovering from his shock. She had a melodious and surprisingly deep voice that seemed to embrace him with warmth.

‘Mrs Georgina Beaufort, my lord. It appears we are in your debt.’

‘It was very little, Mrs Beaufort. I merely did what any gentleman would do.’

‘Yes, well, Mary has a history of getting into scrapes, I am afraid.’ She lowered her voice and whispered, ‘She got the looks, my lord, but she didn’t get the brains to go with them.’

This confidence was accompanied by an arch look of such amused horror that the Irishman found himself grinning like a schoolboy, utterly charmed by the sheer charisma of the woman in front of him.

As the story was told, to Culligan’s surprise, Mrs Beaufort seemed sceptical about Mary’s role in the matter and questioned her closely. With the maid wide-eyed and pleading innocence, the earl felt he had to step in.

‘Having seen the matter unfolding before me, I think I can reassure you that Mary was the offended party.’

‘Hmm, we’ll see,’ she replied, looking across the table at the girl. ‘Mary has a chequered past and has not been with me very long. I have taken her on as an act of kindness after she was rescued from …’ she paused and met his eye, ‘a place of low reputation.’

‘Ah, I see.’

‘Quite. Well, anyway, enough of this. My lord, you must come to tea tomorrow and give me an opportunity to thank you properly for your noble act this afternoon.’ Completely captured by the adoring looks Mary was giving him and the extraordinary charm of Mrs Beaufort, Culligan found he had little difficulty in accepting.

At half past four the following day, a cab dropped him at the entrance to Arundel Court and, following the instructions provided by Mrs Beaufort, he walked down the alley to the square and knocked on the shiny blue door. Mary herself opened it and welcomed him effusively. After taking his coat, she led him into a pleasant salon with a large bay window at one end and a settee and a bright fire at the other. A large and very attractively framed mirror was attached to the wall, he noticed.

Mrs Beaufort was waiting for him and smiled. ‘My lord. Welcome to our humble home. How very nice to see you again.’

He was again captivated by her eyes but managed a little bow and took a seat opposite her. ‘Do please call me Alfred, Mrs Beaufort. We are all friends here, I’m sure.’ He beamed at her and managed to encompass Mary in the look as well.

‘Then you must call me Georgina. Will you join me in a whisky and soda?’

‘I would enjoy that, Georgina, thank you.’

She nodded to Mary, who moved over to a table where Culligan could see a collection of bottles and glasses. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her carefully pour the whisky and then struggle with the soda siphon, clearly unfamiliar with its operation. However, at last, the drinks were served, and after Mary had left, he and Georgina had a very pleasant conversation for half an hour. She was a good listener and asked him interesting questions. He told her about his Irish estates and the importance of his role in the Irish Government before suddenly realising that he had barely given her a chance to speak at all.

‘That’s enough about me, Georgina. Do tell me about yourself and how you come to be living here in this delightful house.’

‘Before I do, one more question for you, Alfred. Would you care for another whisky?’

He hesitated. The first one had been very strong, and he was feeling it, but before he could refuse, Georgina added, ‘Do have one. I think that I will.’ Without waiting for an answer, she walked to a bell button and pushed it, and thirty seconds later, Mary appeared. ‘Two more whiskies,’ she said.

Again Culligan noticed that her tone was distinctly short with the girl, but he supposed that, as Georgina was another woman, she was perhaps immune to her extraordinary beauty. He also noted that her maid’s dress was of good quality cloth and surprising well fitted, pulled in tight around her waist and flaring gracefully out over the swell of her buttocks. The top was cut lower than he would have expected, and the deep valley of her breasts was enticingly evident as she bent over the drinks table.

Warmed and relaxed by the whisky, he watched as she walked carefully towards him, carrying his drink on a tray and smiling. He could see her nipples clearly underneath the fabric of her dress and felt a stir of lust. As he reached out for the glass, the girl stumbled in front of him. The tray tipped over, depositing the whisky in his lap, instantly soaking his trousers.

For a moment, pandemonium reigned as he stood up, frantically brushing with his hand whilst Mary wailed an apology, her hands at her face. Georgina leapt to her feet, her face suffused with fury.

‘You foolish clumsy girl,’ she cried. ‘That is the second time in less than a week. What is wrong with you, child?’

‘Oh, my lord, I am so sorry. Please forgive me.’ The maid’s plea was infused with rising panic as she stared at their visitor.

Culligan continued mopping with a handkerchief and replied, ‘An accident, my dear. These things happen. It will dry in due course, I am sure.’

But Georgina was not to be mollified. Grasping Mary firmly by the arm, she steered her towards the settee opposite Culligan and sat down. ‘I warned you that any more foolish behaviour would result in punishment, and I mean to keep my word.’

‘Oh no, please, Mrs Beaufort, not in front of the earl,’ pleaded Mary. But the blonde woman would not take no for an answer and pulled her forward. Culligan watched open-mouthed as Mary ended up braced face down over Georgina’s knees.

‘Apologies, my lord, but the time has come to teach this tiresome girl a lesson.’

So saying, she began to pull at the maid’s dress, revealing shapely calves, then thighs, and finally a pair of wonderfully rounded and wriggling buttocks. She wore no underclothes, the earl noted, and he was reminded of the smiling Irish maids at his estate who would lift their skirts for a shilling. He watched, fascinated and increasingly aroused, as Georgina, now in complete control, pulled the dress up onto her back, leaving Mary naked from the waist down but for a pair of laced black boots.

‘Perhaps after this, you will be a little more careful, you clumsy girl.’

Raising her right hand, she began to firmly spank her buttocks, each flat crack echoing around the salon. Culligan stared, conscious of his rapidly swelling cock as Mary cried out and struggled most delightfully under the chastisement.

On and on it went until, faintly tanned though her skin was, the earl could see a strong red flush appearing across both cheeks. The maid was crying now, her face turned towards him as Georgina worked away, scolding and smacking with an enthusiasm that Culligan found arousing in itself.

Finally, she stopped, breathless from her exertions. ‘Stand up, child.’

Mary stood, and Culligan gasped as she turned to him. In her wriggling, the dress’s front buttons had come undone and one of her magnificent breasts had fallen completely out. He stared at the big dark brown nipple and unconsciously licked his lips. As if that was not enough, the garment somehow remained rucked up at the front, so that as she stood, there was a long pause before it fell back into place.

In that moment he had a glorious view of her cunny shaved bare and plump, and, even more extraordinary, what looked like a serpent’s head tattoo appearing from under the dress, its long tongue flickering downwards towards the thick fold of skin at the top of her cleft.

‘For heaven’s sake, adjust your dress, Mary.’ Georgina’s voice broke into his spellbound open-mouthed reverie. His poor cock was achingly hard, and he fervently prayed that he would not have to stand up for the next few minutes.

But it was not to be.

‘Alfred, please take off your jacket and let this tiresome girl sponge it dry.’

‘I … er …’ He tailed off.

‘It is the least we can do. Mary, help him with it.’

Reluctantly, he stood and turned to face the fireplace, hoping that the awkward bulge in his trousers was not too obvious. However, he was amazed when, as Mary came behind him and reached around to take the jacket, she breathed quite deliberately on his neck and her hand gently squeezed his cock, sending shockwaves through him. It was so quickly and skilfully done that he was certain Georgina noticed nothing.

The blonde waved her away and out of the room before smiling at Culligan and resuming her conversation.

‘My apologies again, Alfred. I am sorry you had to witness that unfortunate scene, but I do believe that firm treatment is needed for one’s staff, and it is best done immediately.’

‘Spare the rod and spoil the child, Georgina,’ agreed Culligan, and the conversation moved on to other things.

It was only much later that night, as he was getting undressed to go to bed, that he realised there was a piece of paper in his jacket pocket. Unfolding it, he read a short note, written in an untutored hand.

Cum tomorrow at 2 pm. She will be out. Bak door. M

He stared at it for a long time, a smile slowly breaking out on his face as his groin stirred in anticipation.

The following day, with his heart beating noticeably harder than normal, the earl rapped firmly on the back door of Arundel Court with his cane. The door swung open and Culligan could not help grinning with delight. The girl had changed into a low-cut red dress that suited her colouring, and with her short hair brushed and eyes glowing under her fringe, she looked utterly beguiling. A relieved smile suffused her face as she saw him.

‘I thought you weren’t coming, sir. Thought maybe you weren’t interested in me.’

‘No, no, Mary,’ he hurried to reassure her. The girl’s naivety really was quite delightful, he thought. ‘I was delighted to receive your charming note, and here I am.’

She stepped aside and said, ‘Shall we go into the room where we were yesterday, sir?’

‘If you like, and it is Alfred, please, Mary. You must call me Alfred.’

‘Very well… Alfred.’ She gave a delicious giggle as she tried it out. ‘Fancy me being on first names with a member of the royalty. If only my mum could hear me.’

This time Culligan did not bother to correct her, partly because he was eyeing her delicious buttocks moving beneath her tightly fitting dress. He suspected that, as with the previous afternoon, she was wearing nothing beneath it, and his head swam at the thought.

Within moments he was sitting on the same settee as before, with the girl next to him.

‘So your mistress is out, Mary?’

‘Yes, Alfred, for all afternoon,’ she said. ‘Leaving me here all alone and bored.’ She pouted a little, and Culligan realised that her red lips matched her dress. Really, every part of her was perfect.

‘Then we’ll have to entertain you somehow, won’t we?’ he remarked. ‘Tell me, Mary, why did you send me that lovely little note?’

The girl took a deep breath and then replied, her words coming out in a rush, the Devonian burr strongly pronounced. ‘When the mistress chastised me yesterday, I liked it that you were watching. Being a handsome milord and all. I imagined it was you doing it. That you were my lord and master and I had been a bad girl, and you were holding me down and spanking my bottom before having your way with me. It made me wet, Alfred. That is why I touched you, and why I sent you that note. I know it’s naughty of me, but I’m a girl with strong desires …’

She tailed off as Culligan, heart beating wildly, placed his hand on her knee and leant forward. ‘My dear Mary, your honesty does you great credit, and I can assure you that I would like nothing better than what you propose.’

She looked at him, suddenly embarrassed. ‘Mrs Beaufort told you I’d come from, a place of low reputation. It’s true. Gentlemen paid for my favours.’ She hesitated and wrung her hands in her lap, ‘And I was paid to provide them.’

A knowing smile appeared on Culligan’s face. ‘I imagine even in London a maid’s wages are modest, Mary, but I am a wealthy man, and I am sure we can come to some arrangement. A generous arrangement.’

He looked at the relief flooding across her face and his heart leapt with affection at her simplicity and lack of guile. ‘I would be very grateful, Alfred. Very grateful indeed.’ She licked her lips. ‘Would you spank my bottom now? I’d like it, but I’d best be naked if you do.’

Speechless, Culligan could only nod. With a look that spoke volumes about the pleasures to come, she stood up, walked over to the mirror and looked at him in the reflection. ‘I like mirrors,’ she said, starting to slowly unbutton the front of her dress. ‘I like what you see in them. I like watching myself. You can sit there and watch too, my lord.’ She completed the buttons and gently pulled the top of the dress apart, then shrugged it down off her shoulders, stopping it at her waist.

‘Saints alive, Mary, you are perfect.’ Culligan stared open-mouthed at her nakedness in the mirror. Her breasts were quite extraordinary, and the tattoo added a level of exoticism to her beauty that made his head swim. His cock was straining, and he shifted on the settee but managed to remain seated.

Holding the dress with one hand, she cupped her heavy left breast and lifted it, staring open-mouthed at herself whilst she did so. Bending her head downwards, she stretched out her tongue and licked the fat brown nipple before sucking it into her mouth. It was fully erect when she released it.

‘That felt nice, Alfred,’ she whispered.

‘What about the tattoo?’ he said faintly, his throat dry.

‘They made me have it. At the place before. Do you want to see where it ends?

‘Oh yes, I do, Mary. Most fervently.’

She giggled. ‘Naughty, naughty, Alfred. Perhaps I should be the one spanking you.’ Turning to him, she released the dress and stepped out of it to stand fully naked apart from her laced-up boots. ‘They made me shave myself down there as well. The woman in charge said the gentlemen would like it. I have kept doing it out of habit. Do you like it, Alfred?’

He nodded, rendered speechless by the vision in front of him.

Smiling, she walked over to him, her breasts swinging gently. As if in a dream, Culligan stood and they kissed, long, passionate, and open-mouthed, their tongues entwined and pulses racing. His hands stroked her back and reached down to lift and squeeze her buttocks.

At length she broke off and said breathlessly, ‘Take off your jacket and shirt, Alfred.’

He pulled them off with frantic haste.

‘Now sit down on the settee just like Mrs Beaufort did yesterday.’ He obeyed unhesitatingly. She leant forward, her breasts hanging down as she gracefully stretched out over his knee. Somehow in the process she managed to give his cock a firm squeeze through his trousers. He moaned in anticipation. ‘Now then, Alfred. Chastise me firmly. Don’t hold back.’

He raised his right hand and brought it down with a brisk slap onto her right buttock. The firm flesh rippled as he repeated the blow. He heard her sigh and relax, her legs spreading wider.

‘Oh yes, that’s what I need,’ she whispered.

He started to spank her, alternating between buttocks and delighting in her whispered encouragement. ‘That’s right, punish me. I’ve been a naughty girl and need to be taught a lesson.’

For a further five minutes, his hand steadily rose and fell as she wriggled and moaned and a deep red blush appeared across both buttocks. Finally, he stopped and gently pulled her cheeks apart. He slid his fingers down and pressed, and her lips parted easily. His head swam as he felt how wet she was.

‘Ye gods,’ he whispered to himself in wonder, completely lost in the moment as he felt her respond.

‘I think you need to fuck me now. Please, my lord. If you will.’ Her voice was urgent.

‘Stand up,’ he said quietly, and as she rose, he stood beside her and tore the rest of his clothes off before they embraced and kissed. She reached down and grasped his shaft, slowly pulling it as her tongue explored the inside of his mouth. Then, gently disengaging from him, she lay back on the settee and opened her legs.

Culligan stared, spellbound. She was fully aroused and glistening, her large clitty standing proud. An erotic sneer appeared on her face as her hand crept downwards. ‘Here you are, my lord. Here’s your mark.’

All reason left the earl, and with a roar of passion he knelt between her knees, pushing them wide apart, his cock engorged and skinned back. She stared, eyes narrow with lust, then she reached out, grasped it, and pulled him forward.

They settled into a hard, fast, rhythm, her arms and legs wrapped around him as he pumped away. It could not last long, and, as he felt her spend, he came inside her, spasming repeatedly and crying out in ecstasy.

‘Mary, Mary, my darling,’ he panted as his mouth and lips caressed her neck. It seemed to him that he was coming alive for the first time in his life, and, as his cock remained rigid with excitement, he started to thrust into her again.

‘Yes, my lord, more,’ she urged as he possessed her.

At last, they quietened and lay in each other’s arms, staring at the fire and talking quietly. Engulfed in a post-coital glow, Culligan was utterly besotted. He felt his life had gone from black-and-white to colour in the space of two days, and Mary’s intoxicating beauty and free-willed lovemaking had opened a new door in his life.

‘When can I see you again, my darling?’ he asked.

‘Well, today’s Monday, and Mrs Beaufort always goes out on Thursday evenings, Alfred. Will you come to see me again then?’

He kissed her deeply, marvelling at how agile and alive her mouth and tongue were. ‘I will be here.’

‘And you will be generous with me, Alfred? You did promise.’

‘What you have given me is priceless, Mary, but rest assured I will provide for you.’

She sighed with satisfaction and snuggled into him. ‘Thank you, Alfred.’

The next three weeks were the most extraordinary and delightful that Culligan had ever experienced. Mary’s beauty and enthusiastic coupling left him walking on air, and he found she completely dominated his thoughts from early in the morning until late at night.

They had taken to using a bedroom on the first floor at Arundel Court which Mary said was not in use. The furniture was covered with dust sheets, but the bed was big and comfortable. As with the salon below, he noticed there was a large mirror on the wall, and a colourful deep-pile rug occupied the space between it and the bed.

On their third meeting, she had shyly shown him a black attaché case which she had stolen from her previous place of work. The contents had astonished him at first, but with her enthusiastic guidance, they had experimented at length with the various devices.

Indeed, thinking about some of the daring new experiences she had introduced him to as they cavorted on the bed in front of the mirror made him shiver with delight and blush with shame in the same moment. For one so young, the girl was phenomenally skilled in the arts of love and, he had to acknowledge, he was receiving an utterly delicious education that left him in thrall to each new and outrageous suggestion she made.

One afternoon he was just leaving a meeting with some colleagues in the Irish Department in Whitehall when a clerk approached him. ‘Excuse me, sir, there is a gentleman to see you. He’s waiting in the Sandford Room.’

‘Oh, really? What’s his name?’

‘A Mr William Munroe, I believe, sir.’

‘Very well. I’ll see him now.’

As he entered he saw a grey-haired gentleman in formal dress sitting in one of two chairs by a coffee table. A decanter of whiskey, a small jug of water, two glasses, and an ashtray were positioned upon it. The man stood up and smiled at him.

‘Good afternoon, Lord Culligan. My name is William Munroe. I don’t believe that we have met before, although I have heard fine things about you from our colleagues in Dublin.’

The earl smiled and took the seat indicated. ‘That’s kind of you, Munroe. You are in government yourself, then, I take it?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’ He nodded, poured himself a drink, and raised the decanter in an unspoken question.

‘No, I won’t, thank you. So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Munroe?’

The older man leant back in his seat and took a sip from his glass. There was a pause as he held it up to the window, admiring its colour. When he spoke, his eyes remained on the amber liquid.

‘She’s delightful, isn’t she? Quite extraordinary.’

Culligan hesitated. ‘Sorry, who is?’

‘The lady with whom you have been spending such an agreeable time, my lord.’ He met Culligan’s eyes and smiled. ‘Mary. Mary, the beautiful and willing maid.’

The earl started in his chair and a look of consternation appeared on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Munroe held up his hand and carried on. ‘No need to deny it, Culligan; we’re both men of the world. Frankly, I envy you. I mean, what man wouldn’t?’

The Irishman thought quickly. There was a steely quality to Munroe that he had not noticed at first, and he sensed that bluster or denial was not the answer. He spread his hands in a gesture of conciliation.

‘I see you have me at a disadvantage. But what gentleman has not considered a dalliance when away from home on an extended trip? No harm has been done. However, what I am not sure about is why my private life is any of your business.’ His tone rose as he completed his sentence, shock giving way to anger at the cheek of the fellow sitting opposite. But instead of answering his question, Munroe asked him another.

‘Tell me, when did you become sympathetic to the Irish republican cause, my lord?’

For the second time in a minute Culligan stared across the table, however, he managed to keep his voice even as he replied.

‘I’m sorry, Munroe, but you either have the wrong man or you have taken leave of your senses.’

‘I think not. A simple trap was set. You were provided with false information about planned military deployments in the southwest of Ireland. We know this information is now in the hands of senior members of the republican movement. I also know your wife strongly sympathises with the aims of these people. I am satisfied that you passed the information to your spouse, who passed it to the Home Rule fanatics. We can’t have that, I’m afraid.’

Culligan glared at him, his body tense with fury and alarm. ‘That is a preposterous assertion, Munroe. You should know that I am extremely well connected here in London, both within the government and at court. If you continue to make such suggestions I will ruin you, sir, in a matter of weeks.’

The man opposite looked at him, unperturbed by the Irishman’s furious response. ‘I take it that is a no to voluntary retirement, my lord?’

‘Damn your eyes, of course, it is.’

‘As you wish.’ He picked up an attaché case that was sitting to one side of his chair, drew out an envelope and withdrew a handful of photographs. He started to place them on the table in a line.

Culligan glanced at the first photo and then, as each one was revealed, a rising sense of shock and then horror overcame him.

The first picture showed him and Mary sitting in the salon at Arundel Court. She looked startlingly beautiful, and he was leaning towards her with his hand on her leg. In the second picture she was lying naked across his knees, and he was smiling as he spanked her.

‘What the devil? How did you get those photographs?’ he managed to stutter.

But the man opposite didn’t reply, just placed five more photographs on the table. showing him and Mary in a variety of poses, taken in the upstairs room with the dust sheets over the furniture.

‘The mirror, Culligan. Doesn’t Mary love the mirror?’

‘My God, she’s one of yours.’ The earl slumped back in his chair, appalled at the images in front of him but, if anything, more horrified by the terrible realisation that his darling Mary, his sweet, wonderful obsession, was nothing more than a courtesan.

They sat in silence for a long moment. When Munroe spoke again, his tone was sympathetic. A candid acknowledgement of the truth from one man to another.

‘You have been seduced by an expert and utterly irresistible heartbreaker, Culligan. There is no reason why these photographs cannot remain private from your wife, but you must resign immediately, my lord. That is the price.’

The Irishman stared at Munroe, a deep and powerful rage building within him. Partly it was anger about what the man in front of him was demanding, but even more, it was the fact that he had been manipulated. In one short moment, his hopes and dreams of some sort of a life with Mary had cruelly collapsed, and he now saw he had been played like a fool from beginning to end. Fury overcame him.

‘I won’t pay your price, Munroe. Send your damn photographs to my wife. I’ll warrant she likes being married to a wealthy earl much more than she cares about an indiscretion with a whore such as this.’ He smiled grimly. ‘As for the rest of them, show those to any man and he will clap me on the back and tell me I’m a hell of a fellow. I’m calling your bluff.’

He sat back and folded his arms.

Munroe smiled at him. The man had a bit of backbone after all. Shame that he was a traitor to his country. With a shrug, he slowly placed the remaining photographs on the table.

‘Oh God, no,’ Culligan whispered. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and picked one up. He was stark naked, on his hands and knees on the big bed. Mary was kneeling up behind him, also naked and looking quite magnificent. She was smiling to herself as she swung the tawse against his buttocks. The camera had clearly caught his joyful grimace.

Munroe handed him two other pictures. He took them, barely able to focus as his cheeks burned with shame. In the first, he was still in the same position, but Mary now had an ivory cock in her hand and was looking directly at the camera. Her eyebrows were raised in amused horror, as though inviting the viewer to encourage her.

The second image showed him slewed round, his buttocks at an angle to the photographer. Mary had buried the cock deep in his bum hole and was holding it in with the flat of her palm. With the other, she had reached between his legs and was wanking his stiff cock. She was laughing.

‘Being married to a man who has made a stupid but understandable mistake is one thing, Culligan. But being married to a gross pervert who indulges in such practices is a rather different matter. Especially if these images reach your society friends. Imagine the gossip at your club.’

‘You fucking bastard.’ The words rang clear in the silence of the Sandford Room.

Munroe stood up and looked down at the earl. ‘Resign from the government and retire to your estates in Ireland. If not, copies of these photographs will be released to all the people you hold most dear, and you will be overtaken by events that cannot be reversed. Frankly, suicide will be your only option. Good afternoon.’

He paced to the door, opened it, and passed through, closing it with a soft click. The Irishman remained sitting in his chair, staring blankly ahead but seeing nothing.