Guilty Pleasures

by Bertrice Small

  As the widowed Duchess of Manley she was both outrageously beautiful and rich. She led a life considered shockingly scandalous by the ton, but was nevertheless accepted because of her wealth. Everyone thought that eventually some fortunate man was going to pin down the naughty duchess and find his way into her heart. But the Duchess of Manley had no heart. She was as cold as ice.

  She had hated the arranged marriage into which she had been forced, and she privately rejoiced when her abusive husband broke his neck going over a water jump. Lady Jane had been the duke’s second wife. As he already had an heir and a spare, her wifely duties were to oblige her husband in any and every way he demanded. The duke, a sensual man, had taught her more than any respectable woman should know about sex. While he preferred having a wife to keeping a mistress, he wanted that wife to behave in their bedroom as a mistress would and in public like the Duchess of Manley should.

  Lady Jane had not followed the proper etiquette for mourning, coming out of black three months after her husband’s demise. All of London was shocked. Her stepson protested, but she ignored him. He was a weak fool. The ton was shocked further when she appeared at the first ball of the new season clad in a scarlet gown. The gentlemen, however, were delighted—to the outrage of several mamas with nubile daughters to marry off. How could their virginal darlings compete with the magnificent duchess? And she did prefer younger men to older ones.

  “They have more stamina in bed,” she was reported to have said. “One prefers a two-year-old stallion to one who is four.”

  The beautiful dowager duchess soon grew bored, though, and sought an outlet to relieve that ennui. Lady Jane found it when a friend complained that she was never going to find a rich wife for her brother if he didn’t learn how to behave properly with the young ladies. Lady Jane heard herself saying, “Would you like me to train him? Young men, like young stallions, frequently need schooling.”

  Her friend had giggled, but then, seeing that the dowager duchess was serious, said, “Would you charge for such training, Jane?”

  “Of course,” the lady answered. “That for which you pay nothing is worth nothing, Augusta. The fee will depend on the difficulty involved. I will lure your brother home with me at the next ball and keep him a few days. Tell anyone who asks after him while I have him that he has gone down to the country on estate business for your widowed mother.”

  And so it had begun. Soon certain ladies of the ton were sending their brothers, their young male relations, even their husbands to the Dowager Duchess of Manley to be schooled in proper behavior toward women of all stations. J. P. Woods thought if someone like Emilie Shann knew of her fantasy, she would be very surprised by it. The fantasy relaxed J.P. after her long, hard days at work, but because she was disciplined, she visited the Channel only three times a week.

  Tonight she had come home after a particularly trying day of dealing with this new hell of electronic rights. Everything in publishing was changing so quickly, it was more than difficult to keep up with it. And the pirates were at work already downloading titles from books contracted before 1994 that were being negotiated for now. Stratford’s rights people were working as quickly as they could. Agents were screaming, authors were being demanding. She wanted her old publishing world back, but J. P. Woods was no fool. She knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  The car service dropped her off in front of her building on upper Fifth. The doorman leaped to open the door and greet her. He held a large umbrella over her head as she got out, even though the building had an awning. It had been raining an icy February rain all day. Better than snow, she thought as she hurried to the elevator.

  “Good evening, Ms. Woods,” the elevator man said. “Looks like it was a rough day.” He closed the door and pressed the button marked 6.

  “It was, Pablo,” she admitted.

  “My wife’s waiting for that next Emilie Shann book,” Pablo said.

  “It’s coming,” J.P. promised as the elevator door opened on the sixth floor.

  “Good night, Ms. Woods,” the elevator man said.

  “Good night, Pablo,” she replied.

  There were only three apartments on her floor. J.P. pushed her key into the door marked 6A, opened it, and went in, closing and locking the door behind her. The apartment was quiet and neat. It was Friday, and the maid had been in today. After hanging up her coat in the foyer closet, she went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, pulling out some salad greens, a white Zinfandel dressing, butter, and some cheese. She fixed the salad, dressed it, and put it on a tray next to an empty plate and a glass of Pugliese Bella Maria wine. She needed carbs tonight. Slicing two pieces of white bread from a loaf her sister had sent her, J.P. set up a grilled cheese sandwich.

  Then she left the kitchen and went into her bedroom to undress and bathe. The hot water from the a half dozen showerheads felt wonderful on her neck and shoulders. She stood under them for several long minutes before turning the water off and getting out to dry herself off. She tossed on a full-length flannel-lined tee completely out of character with her power-dressing persona. The New England girl still left in her wanted to be cozy on a cold night, central heat or no. Then she went into the kitchen and grilled her sandwich in butter until it was crispy brown and the cheddar was oozing out of it.

  J.P.’s apartment had a small dining room, which, like the living room, looked out over the park below. She took her meal into the dining room, and sat eating in the dark silence while enjoying the twinkling skyline across the park. She wasn’t a woman who was afraid of being alone. Indeed, she relished it, and having no one in her private life to answer to. Jane Patricia Woods was self-sufficient, both in her real life and in her fantasy life. As soon as she washed her dishes, she was going to take up that fantasy. She was still tense from the week she had just endured.

  Finally she climbed into her bed. Pressing a button on her night table signaled the doors of the entertainment center opposite her bed to slide open. J.P. settled back. Tonight she would be schooling Lord Reginald Bowie, whose bride, Lady Penelope, was tired of being blamed for their lack of an heir, when the truth was that dear Reggie, while a notable womanizer, found it difficult to get it up for his wife. J.P. pressed the A button on her remote and was immediately in a bedroom in the duchess’s London town house.

  “How do you want ’im, m’lady?” Flint, one of the two footmen holding the half-conscious man between them, asked her.

  “Strip him completely,” Lady Jane said.

  “Wha . . . Where . . . am I?” the man asked groggily.

  “Your wife has sent you to me for training, Lord Reginald. Your behavior is really not to be borne, I’m afraid.”

  “Penny?” he mumbled. “Doesn’t do her duty.”

  “How can she when you don’t do yours?” Lady Jane said. “Oh, yes, I know all about your ability to fuck any little dancer or shop assistant to a fare-thee-well, but you cannot, it seems, manage to fuck your wife. And if you do not, my dear Reggie, then there will be no heir for your title. No, no! We cannot have that, and so you must be trained to do your duty, dear boy. Lady Penelope is counting on me, and I will not fail her.”

  While she spoke, the two brawny footmen, Bertie and Flint, quickly stripped Lord Reginald Bowie naked. At a signal from their mistress, they half dragged the man to a stand. Lady Jane picked up the riding crop that lay on a tabletop. She slid it beneath his penis, then lifted up the limp bit of flesh and shook her head. “You will have to do better than that, Reggie,” she told him. “This is really quite a pitiful display.” Then she removed the crop, laid it aside, and said to the footmen, “Prepare him.”

  They dragged the nobleman across the room and slung him facedown over a bar covered in silk that was fitted upon two sturdy wooden legs. His head hung down. They spread the lordling’s legs and fastened them with manacles to the floor, then fastened his wrists to the frame of the device. The manacles were lined in lamb’s wool to prevent chafing. It was not her intent to damage h
er pupils.

  Lord Reginald was suddenly quite clearheaded. “What are you doing to me?” he demanded of her. “How dare you imprison me? I shall go to the authorities and have you jailed for this outrage! I don’t care if you are a dowager duchess. Your late husband would be appalled by the aberrant behavior you are exhibiting.”

  Lady Jane laughed. “No, my lord, he would not. You see, dear Frederick taught me everything I know. And you will not report me to anyone. Like the others before you, and those yet to come, you will not want to make public what is done by me in this house to those sent to me for training in the proper decorum of how to perfectly pleasure a woman.” She undid the sash of her scarlet silk robe and laid it aside. She was garbed in white muslin drawers and a tightly laced black corset that barely contained her full breasts. The corset was decorated with dainty white rosettes that matched those on the black garters she wore to hold up her white silk stockings.

  “Now, Reggie, let us see how quickly we may bring your cock to a good stiff stand.” She automatically reached out her hand to receive the wide leather tawse that Bertie handed her. Then she smacked Lord Reginald’s bare bottom several times. He yelped with surprise. Lady Jane looked to her footmen. “Well?” she said.

  “Not yet, m’lady,” Flint said. “I think this one will take a fair amount of punishment. Remember Baron Boston?”

  Lady Jane nodded. “Yes, he was difficult at first, but then he came on quite nicely and turned out to be one of my best pupils.” She plied the tawse across Reggie’s plump buttocks, smacking him first this way and then that. When he began to whimper, she whacked him harder. “Don’t be such a child, Reggie. Surely you’ve been birched, and this is far easier.” After a few long minutes, it became obvious that her pupil was not going to respond to the tawse. Lady Jane laid the tawse aside and picked up her riding crop and began punishing him with it.

  He howled and swore dreadfully at her, but she continued wielding the crop, and Flint began to nod in the affirmative. “He’s coming on now, m’lady. A few more blows should do it for you.” And after she had delivered them, the footman reached out and grasped Lord Bowie’s distended cock. “Good and hard, m’lady,” he told her.

  “He must come on sooner than that,” Lady Jane said, annoyed. “Poor Penelope should only have to whip him a few blows to get him ready.” She reached into a basket on the nearby table and drew out a small object. As she dipped it into a dish of olive oil, she spread the cheeks of Lord Bowie’s bottom with the thumb and forefinger of her other hand.

  “Wha-wha-what are you doing?” he whimpered.

  “I’m inserting a small dildo into your fundament to make certain you remain rigid. It’s no bigger than my thumb, Reggie, and surely you had a cock in your ass when you were at school. I was told all the boys do at one time or another.” She slowly and carefully inserted the dildo. The object was to give him pleasure, not pain. “I will leave you now. Lady Worthington’s ball is tonight, and I must make an appearance. I understand that notorious rake the Earl of Pelton will be there. He left for India the year before I had my first season and hasn’t been back since. All the mamas are even more afraid of him than they are of me.” She laughed mischievously. “Flint, adjust his head so he is more comfortable. I will take up where I left off when I return.”

  “Yes, m’lady,” came the dutiful reply. “Shall we twist the dildo at all?”

  “Perhaps just twice to keep him primed,” Lady Jane said, and hurried off to get dressed for Lady Worthington’s ball. She was anxious to see if the Earl of Pelton would actually show up. The rumor was he had gone to India to avoid the consequences of dallying with a wealthy young Englishwoman in her first season. Others, however, said that Pelton was simply an adventurer at heart. He had a younger brother married to the daughter of a marquess, and the two of them had already produced three sons and a daughter. The earldom was quite safe without his taking a wife. Lady Jane was actually quite curious to learn which story came closer to the truth. Smithers, her maid, was waiting for her as she entered her bedchamber.

  “The Earl of Pelton is to be at the ball,” Lady Jane said. “I will want to attract his attention without seeming too obvious.”

  “The emerald green silk chemise dress then, m’lady. I had actually gotten out the black silk, but if you’re looking to be noticed by the gentleman, then the green,” Smithers said. “Most of the gentlemen are used to you wearing black. The green with your red hair will be stunning, m’lady.”

  “And get out my emerald set,” Lady Jane said. “All the women will be wearing pearls, and the maidens dainty lockets. The emeralds will attract him if nothing else will,” she said and laughed.

  Smithers dressed her mistress quickly, arranging her long red hair in a chignon, which was distinctly unfashionable in this day of short coifs and curls. She fastened the Manley emeralds about Jane’s neck, while her mistress affixed the matching earrings into her ears. “The young duchess will have a fit when she sees those emeralds,” Smithers said and chuckled.

  “She is much too young at twenty to carry off emeralds like these,” Lady Jane noted sharply. “As dowager it was my choice to choose first those gems I wanted from the Manley jewels.”

  “You’re much too young to be a dowager duchess,” Smithers said.

  “I know,” Jane replied with a smile, “but being the Dowager Duchess of Manley offers me far more freedom than I had as its duchess, or would have as another man’s wife. Men are good for little else than being bed partners, and I have my pick of those.”

  Her carriage was waiting in front of the town house. She arrived at Lady Worthington’s ball just fashionably late enough so she did not have to stand in a long line to be announced. Escorted up the broad staircase by one of her hostess’s well-trained servants, she was brought to the entry of the ballroom. The majordomo did not need to ask or be told.

  “Lady Jane Fellowes, Dowager Duchess of Manley,” he called out in his deep stentorian voice.

  Jane descended the marble steps into the ballroom to be greeted by her host and hostess.

  “My God, Jane, you look quite spectacular tonight,” Lord Worthington said, kissing her hand and wishing he were younger. The woman really had the most magnificent breasts, and they were practically falling from her fashionable bodice. He forced his eyes to her face to meet her amused stare.

  “You will frighten every mama here tonight trolling for a husband for her daughter,” Lady Worthington said with a quick laugh. “The gentlemen are already beginning to swarm in your direction. It is really quite unfair of you.” Then she lowered her voice. “Charles Pell is back from India. Did you ever meet him?”

  “No,” Jane said. “But I will admit to being fascinated by the gossip surrounding him. Will you introduce me? I imagine the mamas are worried by his presence too.”

  “Not at all,” Lady Worthington informed her. “Some of them are bold enough or foolish enough to think their little virgin will attract his honorable intentions.”

  “Gracious!” Jane said. “I hope he doesn’t have any of those.”

  Both Worthingtons laughed at this clever remark, and then Lord Worthington said, “I will introduce you, my dear. Walk with me so I may be envied by every fellow in the ballroom. With all due respect to my wife, you are the most beautiful woman here tonight.” He took her hand and placed it in his crooked arm. Then they began to traverse the distance across the ballroom, for the dancing had now stopped briefly.

  Jane looked at her objective as they walked. He was tall. Six feet plus an inch or two, with a body that looked hard without the benefit of a corset. Dark hair cut fashionably short, but without ringlets or sideburns. His garb was quite traditional, but stylish, with buttoned knee breeches and a dark evening coat. Because his back was to her, she couldn’t see his face.

  Reaching the spot where Lord Pell stood chatting with several other gentlemen, Lord Worthington brought them into the small circle. “Charles, I have brought the Dowager Duchess of Manley to m
eet you. She is, like all the ladies here tonight, quite intrigued by your reputation.”

  “As I am of hers,” Charles, Lord Pell, answered, taking up Jane’s hand to kiss it.

  She laughed. It was a very bold statement, and the other gentlemen in the circle had paled at the Earl of Pelton’s remark. “Perhaps one day we shall trade stories, my lord,” she said, smiling. “Worthington, you may now take me back to your good lady, as I have satisfied my curiosity.” Then she turned away from him to return to where her hostess now stood.

  “An excellent put-down, my dear,” her companion said. “His words were uncalled for, and I must apologize for it.”

  “Please do not. The apology will come from him in time, I assure you,” Jane said.

  Then she went on to enjoy the ball, dancing every dance with a different partner, and refereeing a dispute between two young bucks who wanted to escort her to the buffet, settling it by having one bring her champagne and the other a plate of food.

  Finally she had had enough, and her carriage was called to be brought around. A Worthington footman helped her into her vehicle and shut the door. It was then that she became aware that fact she was not alone. “Have you come to tender me an apology, my lord?” she asked as the carriage began to draw away from the Worthington town house. “You were quite rude, you know.”

  He laughed in the darkness. “I owe you no apology for speaking a truth everyone knows,” he said.

  “And what truth is that?” she inquired.

  “That the Dowager Duchess of Manley is a bold and independent woman who takes and discards lovers with the same rapidity and skill as a fishmonger sorting through a basket of winkles,” he replied. “And then, of course, there is a rather wicked bit of gossip spoken of in such hushed whispers that I can scarce believe it true. Do you really take certain gentlemen and train them to be better and more considerate lovers?”

  “Come home with me and learn the truth of it. My current pupil is awaiting my return. His wife sent him to me, as the wives of many of my clients do,” Jane answered.