The Perfect Duchess

by Jen YatesNZ

  ‘My cousin, Knightsborough, is a dark soul, a complex man; a strange mix of dark sexual desires, obsessive British patriotism, and deep compassion for similar tortured souls. Within the ton there are a surprising number of twisted beings with deviant needs and obsessions that frequently cannot be met within marriage, or the ordinary consorting with mistresses and the like. Being one himself, Knight knows the agony and frustration of being trapped in that type of body or personality with no outlet for the unusual desires and needs one harbors. So he started the Matrix Club—that meets each night in the downstairs rooms of his mansion on Chapel Street. Every member is sworn to absolute secrecy and always wears a mask. The only one who knows the identity of every member is Knight. He’s the guardian of everyone’s safety and secrets; will intervene where he deems intervention necessary.’

  ‘When would it be necessary?’

  The tears had vanished and her eyes were wide, startled pools of pansy-brown.

  ‘Since the members are incognito it’s imperative someone ensures no incestuous liaisons occur, for instance.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘There’s a public gathering room. The women wear colored brooches denoting their sexual proclivities—’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He looked down at her and smiled. He had to remember despite her age, she was relatively innocent. Should he explain?

  ‘No need to fudge the facts, Dom. I’m not a child.’

  ‘Nor even so innocent any more, my love,’ he teased.

  Color flooded her cheeks.

  ‘So what are ‘sexual proclivities’ exactly?’ she persisted.

  ‘Some like to be bound, others whipped, or maybe just spanked. Some like to be—penetrated at the rear.’

  ‘Enough,’ she said sharply, her cheeks flaming. ‘I get the picture.’

  ‘A man may choose a partner accordingly and they come to an agreement to spend all—or part of—the evening together—doing whatever—pleases them! Alcohol and gaming are also indulged in—but are generally secondary interests.’

  Sheri nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘So where does the Master of Virgins fit in?’

  ‘It’s a service the Club offers. It came about more or less accidentally, in answer to a need that was—brought to Knight’s notice. One of the woman members was quite upset one night and talked privately with Knight about a young relative who was being forced into marriage with an elderly man who the girl held only aversion for. The woman held the belief females should gain as much satisfaction from the sexual act as men. She asked Knight if he could recommend someone who’d give the young woman an experience to remember and appreciate, so she’d know what it could be like—as well as enabling her to realize her dream of cheating the old pervert of her maidenhead. It was her idea it could become a service the Club offered. Knight was sympathetic but unconvinced. He told me about it a few days later and it brought up a memory, one I’d rather had remained buried, and I told Knight about it. You will discover that about my eldest cousin once you get to know him. He has a way of discovering your secrets and making you feel privileged in being able to share them with him.’

  Sheri’s cool fingers caressed his brow.

  ‘The memory is painful?’

  ‘More shameful perhaps. I let someone down and it shames me to this day. Have you heard of Bax’s sister, Samantha?’

  ‘Not really. I thought there was only Lady Holly and Lady Pountney, Selena’s mother.’

  ‘Samantha was the same age as me. She had an ugly strawberry blemish on her cheek and was facing her third season with no offers for her hand when an aging, wealthy cit made an offer. She didn’t fancy him, but accepted as she didn’t want to become a burden on her family or end up being the poor Aunty Drudge for her sister’s children.

  ‘She and I’d always been friends. She asked me to be her first lover because she wanted to know, just once, what it would be like to lie with a man she actually desired. To my shame I admit I was a little arrogant in those days and full of my own attractiveness to women. I had no need or desire to deflower my odd-faced cousin and I invoked the ‘gentleman’s honor card’ and refused.’

  He was only vaguely aware of Sheri’s solemn gaze on him now and the gentle persistent caress of her fingers in the hair on his chest. He’d only ever talked of this to Knight.

  ‘She married Paxton and within the year she’d taken her own life—although it was said she’d died in childbirth. It was Celia who confided in Arthur and me that she believed Paxton to have been a brutal lover and Samantha had been unable to withstand it. I was riven with guilt. Samantha had been like one of us boys when we were growing up and if it hadn’t been for the ugly birthmark on her cheek, she’d have been an attractive woman. She certainly had all the same needs as other women, had exposed those needs and desires to me and I’d turned her away. She probably died never knowing the joy to be had in intimacy. Knight used my guilt and remorse to inveigle me into joining the Club, and to accept the role he likes to entitle, Master of Virgins.

  ‘Every time, probably less than a dozen all told, I performed for Samantha. And I admit I fantasized each one was Jassie, so hopefully, both I and the suppliant gained some pleasure from it.’

  Sheri’s fingers suddenly fisted on his chest and her whole body stiffened, bringing him back from the darkness of that old memory. He tightened his arm around her, holding her close, and cupped her cheek with his other hand.

  ‘You, Sher, are a miracle. Reliving these last few years, with the reality of you in my arms, has shown me how barren it was; how empty. When I came back from Spain in ’13 I had no idea how to go on. All I knew, all I wanted, was the life of a soldier. Growing up at Wolverton with all its ducal status seemed like a vague dream I’d had once as a child. I didn’t want, wasn’t ready, to be the Duke. It was never to have been my role. To me, accustomed as I was to the realities of war and camp life, it seemed being the Duke of Wolverton was all about senseless pomp and posturing. I wasn’t interested in either. Windermere understood my problem—when he was around. He’d accidentally inherited a similar situation. Bax really had no idea—except he was always willing, and usually available, to help me drown my problems in gambling, drink and women. Knight probably had the greatest understanding of how badly I was floundering.’

  ‘No one would’ve guessed,’ Sheri said, relaxing a little again. ‘You always appeared so—at one with your world, in control, rakishly at ease. Every inch the Pirate Duke, in fact—’

  That surprised a chuckle out of him.

  ‘We make a good pair then, my love, do we not? You’re no more the Ice Queen than I’m the Pirate Duke. It was all a façade behind which I hid while I strung folly after folly together in an effort to find who I was supposed to be now. Jassie was a part of that, I think. She was safe. I could be in love with her, yearn for her, and know she wouldn’t succumb. Her love for Windermere is inviolate. It also gave me an excuse to keep those damned scheming husband hunters at bay.’

  ‘Did Jassie know you felt like that?’

  ‘Not then. I didn’t know I felt like that! You, Sher-ma-chère, are my salvation. When I finally opened my eyes and saw you, right there beside me all along, the windows to my world, opened all around you; all around me. A Duke needs a Duchess. And not just any woman can fill that role. When I found her—you—I found myself.’

  Sheri suddenly leaned in and pressed a warm, gentle kiss to his lips. He lay still, accepting, savoring the gentle benison; the understanding it signified.

  Her hands framed his face, her thumbs caressing his cheekbones and covering the livid scar, and the soft smile in her deep brown eyes became a wicked twinkle.

  ‘I think I’m greatly blessed my husband was the Master of Virgins. I’ve been initiated by the best!’ She dabbed another slightly more heated kiss to his mouth, and the twinkle faded to be replaced by a steely glint. ‘But I do intend to be the last virgin you initiate!’

  Her fierceness curled heat thro
ugh his body. He wondered if he’d ever get used to the passionate woman he’d discovered behind Sheri’s icy façade.

  ‘From this day forth I’m only yours, Sher. What I have with you, how I feel with you, makes all that other seem shallow, tawdry, lacking in some fundamental way. I needed a fantasy to help me perform. I need no fantasy to perform with you. You are the fantasy! I’ve only to look at you, think about you and I’m ready—hard—like now!’

  Her hand slid down his body to test the truth of his words and her gaze held his. He tried to read the mix of emotions floating through her eyes, but gave up when she spoke.

  ‘You do want me, don’t you?’ she whispered. ‘Do you truly love me, Dom?’

  ‘I truly do, Sher.—And do you truly love me?’

  ‘I truly do.’

  He knew the joy blazing in her eyes was mirrored in his own. Gripping her hips, he urged her up.

  ‘Ride me, Sher. Take me into you. Ride me.’

  ‘R—ride you?’

  ‘Exactly. And you know very well how to do that! I’ve seen you wearing buckskins and riding astride—and appreciated the sight. In fact, that was one day I did notice you rather than Jassie. You have the most beautiful, enticing, heart-shaped ass I’ve ever seen! Now mount up—please!’

  Their shared laughter carried her through the fumbling moment of guiding him into her tight sheath and as she settled on his length, heat replaced the laughter. With a deep shuddering breath, she found the rhythm that took them both to that place where bliss knew no constraints.

  ‘You’re incredible,’ he told her when he could speak again. He was still sitting up against the headboard and she straddled his lap with the grace of a natural courtesan. Deciding against sharing that thought with her, he pressed her head into his neck and held her close. His focus slowly returned and as his breathing began to settle and the wonder of the woman he now called ‘wife’ seeped into his every sense, he saw their reflection in the mirror of the dressing table opposite the end of the bed. Tangled curls of silver-gilt hair fell across one creamy satin shoulder—that back, that subtly sensual curve to her waist—!

  She was the perfect model for the final painting in the series he—

  Bloody hell! The scene in the studio when he arrived! He’d been so focused on getting to her, loving her, he’d noticed nothing else. She’d been sitting before an easel, painting—and she’d been naked—with mirrors all around her! God dammit!

  Erupting out from beneath her, Dom slid off the bed, gripped her wrist and tugged her off the mattress after him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Chapter 16

  Sheri tried to loosen his grip. It was one thing to be naked in bed with him but she wasn’t yet into prancing about the house that way. But his hand was a manacle round her wrist and she had no choice but to follow—back into her studio. A room supposed to be off limits to anyone but her. Then it dawned on her someone—most probably Maggie, her interfering maid—had not seen fit to inform him of that fact. It was even likely she’d given him explicit instructions on where to find her mistress!

  ‘No one—comes in here—but me—’

  Her voice trailed off as he pulled her through the door, sat her back down on the stool where he’d first found her.

  ‘I should bloody hope no one else comes in here if you’re in the habit of lounging about buck naked!—Tell me you’re not S. P. R. Woods,’ he growled.

  ‘I’m not S. P. R. Woods.’

  Grabbing her hands he turned up her palms. She closed her fingers, curling them into fists, but he took first one and then the other and prized them open and silently examined the tell-tale paint stains.

  ‘Liar,’ he whispered, reaching for the paintbrush she’d dropped on the easel ledge when he’d erupted into the room earlier, and slapping it into her open palm. ‘S. P. R. Woods.’

  Then his eyes widened as he observed her in the mirror, positioned to the right of the easel at the perfect angle to view her back in another mirror arranged before her.

  ‘S. P. R. Woods—Springwoods!’ Tossing his head back in amusement, he added, ‘I love a good puzzle, Sher. And you’ve been the best one yet—not least because of the rewards I reaped in unravelling you! Artist and model.’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  The question had to be asked even as she strove to still the panicked beat of her heart. She’d not even thought what she might do if he forbade her to paint.

  ‘Mind? I have the best damned artist I’ve ever encountered for my—exclusive possession—you did note that word, ‘exclusive’ didn’t you, Sher? And, the ‘Dawning of Awareness’ series has just become infinite! I already know what I want you to paint next!’

  ‘You do?’

  Had all her stupid fears been for nothing?

  ‘Mm hm.’

  Her fears fell away like mist drifting off the moors and she let a smile tease her lips and said, ‘I might be your wife but that won’t get you my artistic skills for nothing!’

  As she watched him in the mirror, one black eyebrow arched in disbelief.

  ‘It won’t?’ he growled. ‘You came with a fortune attached. You’re set to inherit a hefty portion from Astonbury. You’re independently wealthy even apart from the generous allowance I give you, my love. Explain to me why I should pay one jot more than the hundreds of pounds I’ve already shelled out for your work. Which, I might add, is worth every penny that rogue, Puttick, demanded for them. But—’

  ‘You don’t want a working artist for a wife?’ she taunted, cocking her head to one side in an effort to match his wicked pirate look with a saucy one of her own.

  ‘Heaven forbid!’ he laughed. ‘Aunt Georgi would have a conniption fit. I’ve only just crawled into her good books by marrying you!—Working artist!’ He chuckled, and slid his hands over her shoulders and down to cup her breasts. ‘So what did you do with the money and why must I continue to pay?’ he demanded softly, tweaking her nipples and eliciting a soft gasp from her.

  Sheri raised her hands to cover his and still his teasing fingers.

  ‘I use the money to fund training programs for the young girls at three orphanages I sponsor. The girls also get a basic wardrobe, including a warm cloak, to start out with. I could easily fund these programs from my own money, but it’s more satisfying to actually earn the money with my paintings. And since I couldn’t really set up as a portrait painter, which I would have loved to do, I needed to paint something wealthy art connoisseurs would buy.’

  ‘It was fortunate I happened to see them first then. When Bax saw the initial set of three at Bruton Street, he wanted to buy them from me. And though we both appreciated the subtlety of the subject and the exquisite brush work, which he vowed was executed by a female hand, we were also taken with the model. I don’t know what Bax saw, but I sensed a secret. Not only was she innocent, she was hiding something. And you probably know by now I like nothing so much as—a treasure hunt! And what a treasure I found.’

  He bent and pressed a kiss to the soft skin at the join of neck and shoulder and Sheri tilted her head a little to allow him access.

  ‘You—,’ she stopped to gather her breath as he nibbled at her ear lobe, ‘—you said you knew what you wanted me to paint next.’

  ‘Oh, I do, my beautiful duchess! I do. But if I take you back in there to show you,’ he said, nodding back towards the bedroom, ‘ there’ll be no more painting done until—well, for the foreseeable future! God, Sheri, you’re perfect!’

  Sheri closed her eyes.

  ‘I hate hearing you say that, hearing anyone say that. I’m not!’

  ‘Yes, you are. This,’ he said, snatching up the charcoal and darkening the lines delineating the wolf again, ‘marks you as mine. This,’ he tapped the birthmark, ‘makes you the perfect duchess for the Duke of Wolverton. Perfect, for only I get to see it. No one else would likely even recognize what they were looking at. Perfect, Sher. You are!’

  Entranced, she watched in the mirror as, standi
ng at her back, he slid his hands under her arms and cupped her breasts. Instantly the nipples tightened, beaded, and soft color flooded her cheeks and down her throat.

  ‘And so responsive,’ he whispered by her ear as his fingers caressed the sensitive nubs. He pressed his lower body hard against her back. ‘You affect me as no other woman ever has. Feel what you do to me—again.’

  ‘Again?’ she breathed.

  ‘Again,’ he stated, ‘and much as I like the idea of taking you with all these mirrors around us, I really want you stretched out on that bed so I can prove to you just how perfect you are—for me.—I love you, Sher.’

  ‘Oh—Dom! I love you too. Now stop talking and take me to bed!’

  With a wicked piratical grin she’d never tire of provoking, he swung her up into his arms and carried her back into the bedroom.

  …

  It was another three days before either of them cared to leave the blessed sanctuary of Springwoods and return to London to make their peace with Augusta.

  As Dom settled beside her and gave the coachman the office to move off, Sheri snuggled against him. Almost instantly he pushed the cloak aside, removed the chemisette from the neckline of her gown and began dabbing heated kisses to the rounded flesh of her breasts thus exposed.

  ‘I have a fond memory of a carriage ride with you, my love. It was the first intimation I had the Ice Queen was not all she seemed!’

  ‘Indeed—and I wasn’t ‘Your Grace’ then, either! I felt so guilty and wicked—so helpless to stop you! I do believe I could enjoy it much more now—Your Grace!’ she murmured, twitching the blind closed on her side of the carriage.

  Dom gave her a wicked grin then pulled the blind on his side into place also.

  ‘Not that I must heed any promise of making love to you in the dark anymore,’ he said, coming back to pull her onto his lap, ‘but I guarantee you’ll enjoy this more—for there will be—so much more.’ He bunched her skirts up to her waist and slid one questing hand up her inner thigh. ‘A carriage is not the most comfortable place in which to make love, but I assure you it can be done.’