Prudence Lucas was an imprudent young woman approaching twenty-seven, almost too old to be marriageable. She had ample assets concealed within her modest day gown but no one to appreciate them.
The militia Regiment had been stationed in Meryton since summer. Prudence had flirted outrageously with the officers but to no avail. After much scandal, Lydia Bennett had snapped up Whickham, and few eligible beaus remained.
Prudence had vowed to be married by New Year. The calendar was well into Advent, and Christmas approached fast. So, when she passed Captain Wentworth, wearing his regimentals, in the street, she imprudently lifted her skirt, displaying far more leg than propriety allowed.
The reputedly rakish Captain crossed the street.
"Morning, Miss Lucas," he said, tipping his ornate officer's hat.
Prudence curtsied. "Good morning, Captain," she replied. He must think her quite the coquet.
"I have private rooms at the Inn," the dashing Captain said. "If it pleases you, would you care to join me at eight this evening?"
It would be imprudent and utterly lacking propriety, but Prudence must be daring to ensnare the man. Propriety counted for nought if she wasn't to end a spinster.
"I'd be delighted," she replied, grinning impishly.
That evening, Prudence wore her most daring evening gown. A blue ribbon highlighted the waistline just below her prominent chest, and the neckline plunged daringly, exposing acres of milky flesh. The silver cross nestling between her breasts aimed to draw the eye. Her stays, laced tightly up her back, ensured her kettledrums, separated by the stiff bone busk, formed a perfect shelf. Below, the white, translucent fabric of the skirt hugged her slender figure, dropping to a modest hem that brushed the floor. Daringly, she wore no drawers.
She drew a deep breath and knocked on the door to the Captain's chambers.
"Enter," Wentworth's deep voice said.
Prudence lifted the latch and opened the door. She blushed at the man's informality. He lounged hatless in a chair, his red regimental jacket unbuttoned and his black riding boots discarded nearby. Prudence stared at his white lace shirt, unused to seeing a man so undressed.
Wentworth stood. He gestured lazily at the dresser.
"Yuletide Punch or brandy?"
Prudence's courage was flagging. "Brandy, if you please?"
The rakish officer handed her a glass brimming with amber liquid.
She spluttered when she sipped the fiery brandy. After a moment, she took a large gulp, her throat burning with the strong spirit.
Wentworth approached her, put his hands on her waist and kissed her.
Prudence pushed him away. "Sir, you forget yourself," she said crossly.
The dashing Captain undressed her with his eyes, his gaze settling on her ample chest.
"Do I, Madam?" he asked, grinning.
Prudence blushed. A kiss was the least of the liberties she expected to endure to entrap the man.
She shook her head slowly with downcast eyes, not daring to meet his burning gaze.
His arms wrapped around her, pressing Prudence against his chest. Again, Wentworth's lips sought hers. A tongue probed between her lips, and Prudence felt her willpower evaporate. Her lips parted, and they kissed passionately.
Prudence lost all thoughts of propriety and was frantic with desire. She sensed the same urgency in the wealthy Captain. She grinned. So far, so good.
Hands fumbled behind her back. She felt the waist of her dress loosen. He's undone the ribbon! Fingers fumbled at the fastenings of her dress, and soon, it fell open at the back.
Wentworth's hands roughly pulled the expensive gown off her shoulders, and it dropped to the floor, leaving her in just her stays, knee-length stockings and slippers.
A rough hand pressed against the black, wiry hair of her exposed sex, and a finger probed between her fleshy lips. Prudence reached down and undid the buttons of Wentworth's tight white britches, which were soon around his knees.
The scoundrel pushed her back against the dresser, and his hands forcefully spread her knees apart. Prudence shrieked when the Captain's erect prick nudged her wrinkled sex, pushing painfully and suddenly into her virgin cunt.
His tongue played inside her mouth as he kissed her passionately with his priapic tool embedded deep inside her.
The man's engorged prick pounded her, and Prudence found she loved the sensations as Wentworth's rigid arbor vitae repeatedly slammed into her. She gasped with pleasure at each thrust of his silent flute.
A wave of intense pleasure swept through Prudence, and her madge rippled against the invasive weapon. Her face felt flushed, and her muscles twitched uncontrollably in the throes of her passion.
Moments later, the Captain groaned, and a hot, liquid rush filled her cunt. His stiff tool slammed into her again, pulsing another hot, sticky wave into her tight muff.
One vicious thrust later, Wentworth sighed.
"I needed that."
Prudence felt his erect tool leave her quim, and the rogue stepped away from her, pulling up his trousers.
"When will I see you again?" she asked, hopeful she could form an attachment.
"Never, you silly hussy," the Captain said, still panting from his exertions. "We leave for Brighton tomorrow."
Her excitement faded, and some propriety returned. She felt sticky liquid oozing from her violated muff.
The man laughed. "Now, get out before I spank you."
Prudence felt ashamed and humiliated. Her ill-conceived plan had backfired utterly. Far from entrapping the man, the knave had pleasured himself with her, completely ruining her. Deep down, Prudence admitted she loved the pleasure he had given and knew she would happily allow him to despoil her again.
Prudence hurriedly pulled on her dress and crept down the stairs with it still unbuttoned. She retrieved her coat from the grinning servant who had taken it and stepped outside where her carriage awaited.
She grinned to herself. No one could ever know, especially not Sir William Lucas, her father, or her sister Charlotte, who recently married the stupidest man in Christendom.
Prudence had loved every moment of her imprudent impropriety.
