RH part 7
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Lord Hamilton watched the retreating back of his friend - the strong rippling muscles under Horatio's silken shirt held no appeal for him now. "Man delights not me," Hamilton muttered under his breath, "No, nor woman neither..." His eyes rose to meet those of the ghostly apparition hovering in front of him. "But disembodied flesh on the other hand..." His body urged towards this new form of titillation.
The apparition beckoned Hamilton towards her, a subtle smile playing on her pale lips. His britches still about his ankles, his manhood stirred to new heights of seraphic sensuality, he shuffled on his knees across flagstone floor until the glorious vision of empyrean femininity was but a breath away. She stared deep into his clear azure eyes, almost as if seeing into his very soul.
Gone were his thoughts of handsome Horatio, and the ribald manly japes they had once shared; gone were all thoughts of Gilly, Rosie and all the other boys that once stirred his britches to such bulging buoyancy; gone too were all thoughts of beautiful, virginal Ophelia.
Hamilton gave an unearthly moan, "Madam, I come before you!"
The apparition spake, her ghostly voice brimming with the promise of rapturous bliss. "Mark me --" she began; but Hamilton needed no further encouragement. Thrilling to her dulcet, demanding tones, Hamilton's too too solid flesh melted, thawed and resolved itself into a dew upon her crinolined gown.
As Hamilton shuddered in his solitary ecstasy, the ghost began to fade from view. She whispered in his ear, "If thou didst ever thy dear father love, revenge his foul and most unnatural murder! Adieu! Remember me!"
The evidence of their mystical union still visible on the ethereal fabric of her purple gown - which, now that Hamilton thought about it, was rather blue in colour - she faded into nothingness.
Groaning softly, spent from his exertions, Hamilton drew a hand across his brow; the sweat ran in cold tendrils down his high aristocratic cheekbone. "Murder?" he murmured, "Well, God-a-mercy."
"My lord!!"
Fair Ophelia stood in the doorway, backlit in the soft candlelight shining in from the corridor; her hair falling in tousled ringlets about her heart-shaped face as if she had just risen from her bed, her mouth agape at the scene that greeted her innocent eyes.
But Hamilton heeded her not. His lust sated, his urges drained, he lay back on the cold stone floor. Perchance to dream, he slept.
