"Yes harder, don't stop!".

Lancelot Henry Hemmington, the sixth duke of Castor rolled his eyes as he thrust into the moaning female from behind. Her chattiness was beginning to irk him and he wished she would shut up. She had been quite the talker since he picked her up from the brothel. The only reason why he had chosen her was because of her hair colour. Other than that, she did not quite stand out in anyway to him, sexually.

"Your grace, kiss me".

She tried to turn and face him, nearly deflating his engorged manhood. Gripping the back of her neck firmly, he pushed her face against the pillow.

"Stay". He hissed in command. And sighed when she obeyed, remaining still.

Lancelot then began to concentrate on the woman he desired. Her long silky curly blonde hair, her deep sea blue eyes, her perfectly sculptured body and creamy slender legs. He liked how fragile she was, delicate to be precise.

His hands unconsciously released the back of the female's neck as he gingerly caressed the softness of her backside.

"Ingrid". He moaned, feeling a surge of pleasure rush through him.

He imagined how he would turn her over and kiss her, tasting the insides of her mouth. Except he didn't want to kiss this female. He wanted Ingrid. He imagined how her first time would be. He would be gentle with her, taking time to explore her body before taking her maiden head and making her his forever. At the thought of being her first, his manhood swelled with desire, the membrane aching as he quickened his thrusts.

Lancelot was so engrossed in his imagination of taking his betrothed in his bed that he vaguely noticed the female turn back and try to kiss him. He snapped out of his sweet imagination, pushing his head away from the reach of her lips. Angry that she had ruined his perfect imagination, he gripped her golden locks, jerking her head back. As she yelped out in pain, he reared back and thrust himself fully into her, his brutality making her scream out in pain.

The smell and the sight of her was all wrong. Lancelot suddenly realised. The female had nothing in common with his betrothed. He was no longer feeling pleasure, only fury as he continued to thrust into her savagely. It was as if he was punishing her for not smelling or looking like Ingrid. The only thing the female had in common with his betrothed was her golden hair. If only she had stayed quiet. He hissed, ramming his large manhood carelessly into her over and over again.

The savage sex went on and on, with Lancelot not caring that the female was screaming the house down. No matter how much she screamed, no one would hear her. The house was situated in the outskirts of the town. It was the only house for miles.

Sweat coated his naked body, dripping from his face down to his hard chest. Finally, he felt himself near the edge. Pulling out of her, he released on to her back, semen dripping into her hair because of the way she was bent over. His breath was deep and unsteady as he stood to his feet, taking in the current situation of the female curled up on the bed sobbing.

He huffed, frowning at how delicate she tried to portray herself. Surely he was not her first or the only man who had taken her in this manner.

After putting on his clothing, he then turned to her, snapping his fingers to get her attention. She slowly looked up at him, fluttering her long wet lashes like an innocent puppy.

"You can keep the house as payment for any damages caused". He let his eyes lower to her cunt and saw she was bleeding. He winced involuntarily. "Keep the house and everything in it". He told her and walked off out of the house.

Mounting his horse, he gave one last look at the house. He never like it anyway. His grandfather had willed it to him but he never found any use for it except bringing his whores here. Pulling at the reigns of the horse, he kicked the horse in its side and caused it to move. He was eager to get back to his estate and deal with a pending matter.

*****

Lancelot stared at the file in his hand in disbelief. Never had he for once pictured his betrothed a loose skirt but the evidence was clearly and boldly written for him to see. Ingrid was having an affair!. This did not sit well with him. He had assigned his men to follow Ingrid's every move, to keep an eye on her and discourage any prospective suitors from asking for her hand in marriage until the lass was of age and ready to be wed by him. He wondered how this affair had started in the first place without his men knowing!.

"How long has this been going on?!". He demanded from Philip, his right hand man.

"A few months your grace". He answered timidly.

"And you said nothing?!". He flung the file at him, paper flying everywhere.

"I wanted to ensure this was the case your grace, so I did the follow up myself and it is true". He gulped visibly.

"Who is he?". The duke demanded as he paced his office.

"He is a fine lad of about her age-". Philip began to say but was cut off by the duke.

"His title I mean. You fool!". He barked at Philip.

"Non-none your gra-ce. He is a low born". The poor man was sweating despite the cold breeze of the night air coming through the large window on the office.

Lancelot cursed colourfully. The thought of another man touching Ingrid irked him greatly. If his informant was correct and the insolent fool was indeed having an affair with his betrothed, then he would make sure the insipid twat was silenced quickly before things got out of hand. His lips quirked sardonically and he felt a rush of excitement at the thought of riding himself of the fool who was trying to stand in the way of him wedding his lovely Ingrid.

It had been a while since he had set eyes on her, but he had his men following her every move, making sure to keep other suitors at bay. He had spent a fortune in paying off her late father's debts and providing for the lavish expenses of her mother all in the name of wedding Ingrid!. He however relished the thought of taking her in his bed on their marriage night. It was a desire long overdue.

His lips twisted in a sneer. First he would send the lad a warning, and if he refused to back away and put an end to his frolicking, he would then carry out his plan of having the lad disappear from the face of the earth.

He snorted in derision, wondering what Ingrid saw in a mere lad with no title. There was nothing in the file that showed the boy in question was capable of taking care of her needs let alone raising a family with her. Lancelot did not care that she was in love with the lad. His only aim was to put an end to this affair as soon as possible.

Moving to settle in the chair behind his desk, Lancelot beckoned Philip close. He smirked when he saw the man visibly tremble as he made his way closer to him.

"I want you to find the lad and issue this warning to him. Tell him I am only going to give him one chance to back away honourably. Speak to his parents if possible. Ensure you instill fear in him".

"Yes your grace". He bowed.

"Good. Go now. Upon your return, pass by the Roseville manor and tell my sister in law I shall be dropping by for dinner tomorrow".

"Yes your grace". He bowed and left quickly.

Leaning back in his chair, Lancelot thought of all the things he would do to the lad if he foolishly refused to heed his warning. A sadistic laugh left his lips. He anticipated the slow death he would give the boy, letting it serve as a warning to any lad who would think of courting his Ingrid.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door before it opened. George, Lancelot's butler poked his head in through the door way.

"Shall I come in sir?". The middle aged man inquired.

"Come". The duke beckoned him in with the wave of his hand.

George entered, shutting the door behind him and bowing a little once he was in front of the duke.

"Shall I serve dinner your grace?". He asked.

"No. I am in no mood to indulge myself with food. Go!". He barked at the man.

"Yes your grace". George bowed once more and turned to leave.

"Wait!". Lancelot commanded.

The poor man froze in his stride. He was already trembling by being in the duke's presence and could not wait to get out of there. Holding his breath, he turned towards his master.

"Do you happen to know any lad of low birth by the name Boris. A wee lad of about seventeen?".

George frowned, wondering why the duke was inquiring about his sister's son. Seeing the duke's face turn up in a sneer, George quickly composed himself, bowing quickly.

"Forgive me your grace". He cleared his throat. "I have never heard of him". He lied.

"Go". Lancelot dismissed him.

George quickly got out of there, letting out a sigh of relief once he had shut the door behind him.