If You Give a Duke a Duchy
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Thwack!
“Wha--”?
Thwack!
“Stop that!”
Thwack!
“WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT?”
Quinn froze, nonplussed. "Excuse me?"
“Why are you spanking me? I'm not a schoolboy!”
“Um...well...I just…”
“I mean, Headmaster Sidebottom never made me take off ALL my clothes!”
“So...you don't like this?”
He looked taken aback for a moment. Seeming to forget his embarrassment as he thought about it, he said slowly, “Well, I don’t know…it's not so much that I don't like it, it's just...Sidebottom had a much stronger arm.”
She put a hand on her hip as she cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh really?” Taking a step back, she put all her ninja strength into it as she laid another smack across those smooth, firm cheeks.
“OH!” he exclaimed.
She waited.
Panting, he continued, "Oh. Oh, I say...this is embarrassing. I—um, this has never happened before."
She stepped in front of him to see him gazing in dismay at his mighty jolly roger. It was pointing straight at her, as if to say, “Hullo! Would you like to play a game?”
A slow smile spread across her face.
“Really? Never?”
“Well, um, I mean, this—” he nodded at his tumescent member “--has happened many times, of course. Just, not—not when Sidebottom spanked me, do y’see?”
“Oh yes, I see. But do you like it?”
“Er, I—I—I…
“Well?”
He swallowed hard, his eyes wide with surprise. "Why, yes. Yes, I rather think I do."
Chapter Six: Mistress and Commander: The Far Side of the Nursery
In Which a Fair but Penniless Governess longs for the Heart of a nefarious Highwayman pretending to be a Duke, though he is Betrothed to another
By Kate Davies
Last night, I dreamt I went to Netherloin again…
Miss Julia Fitzgerald sighed and traced one finger down the fogged pane of glass, gazing out at the broad expanse of the estate. What an addle-pated thought, of course. How could she return to Netherloin again if she had never left it?
Other people left. Even the Duke left, for a short time at least, on his daring piratical adventure.
But Julia Fitzgerald?
No, she would be here until she drew her last breath, faithfully fulfilling her duties as governess to Ward, the Duke’s ward.
That gave her, what, a good ten or twelve years, right? Until Ward was too old for a governess?
She shook away the sudden chill, determined to look on the positives. Mayhap the Duke and his intended would have children of their own someday, adorable little girls to dress in the latest mode and charming boys to chastise for climbing on the furniture. She could stay on as governess to their little darlings.
A single tear tracked down her English-rose cheek, and she quickly brushed it away. Only here, in the quiet solitude of the nursery, could she admit the truth, even to herself.
She was in desperate love with His Grace, and would be until the day she died.
Hopefully long after Ward reached his majority, of course.
She resolutely pushed away her maudlin thoughts. Far better to focus on the positive, she always said. For instance, the return of the Duke to his home.
His uncle had been furious at his disappearance, storming around Netherloin, waving a glass of sherry as he ranted. None of it made sense, something about ducks and valets, so Miss Fitzgerald had taken Ward and wisely hidden the both of them in the nursery whenever the gentleman was on a tear.
Thankfully, the Duke’s uncle had apparently forgotten they were even part of the household, until yesterday when he’d burst through the entryway shouting that the lost heir had been found.
It was good to have the Duke back home at Netherloin at last. Difficult as it was to be so near him, knowing she would never be his, it was far preferable to wondering if he was safe out on the high seas.
Someday, perhaps, he would share the story of his adventures with her. In her mind’s eye, she could see him standing atop a sailing vessel, the wind tossing his glossy dark locks, his narrow-eyed gaze fixed on the horizon. How brave! How dashing! How romantic…
She sighed again, pressing her forehead to the cool glass. The joy of his return was tempered by the fact that his betrothed had joined them in the welcome home celebration. She was never one to denigrate other members of the fairer sex, but in this case she’d make an exception. That loathsome woman—so grasping, so vulgar. A man like the Duke needed someone sweet, someone loving, someone who would adore him forever.
Someone like…
No. She could not even think it. It was impossible.
And it would be agonizing to stay on here after the Duke married his fiancée. To watch the two of them strolling the grounds hand in hand, gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes, feeding each other bits of venison at supper…
The door to the nursery opened and she dashed another tear off her glistening eyelashes. “Good morning, Your Grace,” she said as she turned around. Then, realizing it wasn’t the Duke, she pulled herself out of an awkward curtsy without tumbling to the ground completely.
She counted it as a win.
“Good morning, Miss Fitzgerald,” Ward said, peering at her closely. “I say, are you all right?”
“Perfectly fine, thank you, Ward.” She glided briskly to the classroom area of the nursery and picked a book up off the table. “Are you ready for today’s lesson?”
He followed her across the room, frowning at the book in her hand. “Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue?”
She thrust the book behind her, hiding it in the voluminous folds of her overskirt. “Oh, my. I wonder how that ended up in here.”
Ward leaned forward, peering at her face. “Miss Fitzgerald, you’ve been crying.”
“Pish posh and nonsense,” she said, patting him on the head. “Governesses never cry.”
“And glad I am to hear of it,” a low voice murmured from behind her.
Both Julia and Ward turned in unison. Julia’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of His Grace lounging against the doorframe, his hair rakishly dipping over one eye. He looked…dangerous.
Clearly, his time at sea had changed him in more ways than the obvious.
He had not intended to visit the nursery today.
Truth be told, he had not even known he had a nursery. But the oily Wickham had disappeared earlier that morn, and Westley knew it was one of his only opportunities to search for his dear Brigid.
She had to be missing him by now. And what if she was hungry?
He had walked quietly through the halls of this great house, opening doors and trying not to focus too much on how his darling Brigid must be suffering right now.
And at the end of yet another long, dark, confusing hallway, he’d opened yet another door, and stumbled upon this vision of gentle domesticity.
He should have closed the door again and continued on. It was clearly an area of the household outside the Duke’s purview. The young man standing next to the table was too old to be Colin’s son.
Wasn’t he?
Oh, blast it all, was he now supposed to be a father, too? This could be awkward. The boy might notice if his father apparently didn’t know who he was.
Mentally cursing that fopdoodle nobleman for thrusting him into this role without the knowledge he needed to be convincing, he took a step back, then froze to the spot when his gaze fell upon the vision in a simple cotton dress.
It was the angel from last night’s otherwise deadly tedious dinner.
Her golden hair shone like treasure in the dappled light streaming through the window. Her peaches and cream complexion looked good enough to nibble upon. And if he closed his eyes and drew in a breath, he could almost smell the tempting scent of perfectly roasted meat.
It was far too enticing to tear himself away.
“So lovely of you to condescend to visit us, Your Grace,” she said, dropping into a perfect curtsey.
“He visits us every day, Miss Fitzgerald,” interjected the young man. “Or at least he did, before he went away.”
She frowned at the boy. “That was before.” Her gaze softened, turned far-away. “An adventure at sea can change a man.”
Inwardly, Westley snorted. She had no idea.
“Come in, please,” she said, sweeping one arm to indicate the room. “We are honored by your presence.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “I’m sure his tenants would say the same thing,” he muttered. “If they ever had the opportunity.”
Westley ignored him. Children should be seen and not heard, you know. Though he wouldn’t mind if they skipped the whole “being seen” part as well.
“I cannot wait to hear all about your time away from land,” Miss Fitzgerald continued. “Did you meet any real pirates?”
Pirates?
Perhaps the woman was touched in the head.
“I know you were naught but the perfect gentleman, regardless,” she breathed, her eyes alight.
Perfect gentleman?
Now he knew she was slightly addlepated.
But ravishing nonetheless.
“I do so wish I could share the smallest details of my adventures with you, my dear,” he lied smoothly. “But afraid that’s not possible. Pirate’s code and all.”
She nodded, her golden tresses bouncing around her shoulders. “Of course, Your Grace,” she said. “I should have thought of that.”
“Pirate’s code?” The boy shook his head. “Never heard of it.”
“Of course you haven’t,” Westley-now-Colin retorted. “You’ve never been to sea on a pirate ship, have you?”
Miss Fitzgerald patted the young man on his head. “Now, now, Ward,” she said. “You’ll have your chance for adventure. Someday. A long, long time from now.”
“How did your uncle find you, Your Grace?” The boy rocked back on his heels, head cocked. “If you were at sea, that is.”
“Shore leave,” the false Duke muttered. “Don’t you have a lesson to study?”
Ward sighed and took a book out of Miss Fitzgerald’s hands. “Yes, Your Grace.” Then he slumped into a chair and began to read.
The former highwayman stepped closer to the golden beauty. “How did you come to be a governess, my dear?”
She blinked. “Well, it came about quite suddenly several years ago, Your Grace. See, my loving parents died in an unfortunate milking accident, leaving me penniless…”
“Shouldn’t you already know this?”
Westley suddenly found himself quite flummoxed, unable to think of single word to say. Drat the impertinent whippersnapper.
The angel of the nursery came to his succor.
"Ward, do stop pestering His Grace." She glanced up at Westley, and then her sparkling azure gaze fell to the floor. "I do hope you will not think me too forward if I offer my congratulations and best wishes, Your Grace."
Now he was flummoxed all over again. "Congratulations? What for?"
"Why, your engagement of course. Lady Ch-- Chastity will make you a—a fine duchess." The lovely young woman looked as if she were trying not to shudder.
Truth be told, he had completely forgotten about his betrothed.
He had even forgotten about Brigid for a moment!
“Oh, that.” He glanced around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of his beloved ferret. Alas, it was not to be. “Yes, I suppose that a celebration was in order. Kind of you to pitch in.”
“It’s just so wonderful to have you back at home, Your Grace.” She gazed adoringly at him.
He could get used to that.
Perhaps she would be willing to help him locate Brigid. She seemed a trustworthy sort.
Taking her by the elbow, he steered her across the room, away from the keen ears and prying eyes of the irritating young man at the table.
Her breath hitched, making her bosom swell appealingly. Far more appealing than that unfortunate woman he was apparently meant to marry.
“My dear, I have a favor to ask,” he said in a low voice.
She leaned forward, eyes wide. “Anything, Your Grace.”
“I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a pickle, you see.” He glanced around. “I want to propose—“
“Yes!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “I accept!”
Westley blinked, his mouth dropping open. Apparently, his attempt to enlist her assistance in locating his ferret had resulted in gaining a spare fiancée.
He had a feeling Wickham would not be amused.
Chapter Seven: The Ninja Most Naughty
In which Innocence is Plundered and the dire Threat of Ruination looms, and in which Jealousie rears its Head along with various and sundry other Head-Rearings
By Juniper Bell
Colin gazed at the golden-locked goddess as a helpless, bound mouse might stare at a snake. She prowled in a circle around him, boldly scrutinizing his naked flesh. A profusion of blushes heated his body. He’d always been the sort to hide under the bedcovers while the other schoolboys played their naughty games. That is to say, he’d always assumed they were naughty, as the rapscallions made the strangest sounds. He couldn’t help hearing even when he smothered his ears with both trembling hands and several feather pillows. And if certain shameful stirrings in his nether regions occurred, no one was ever the wiser.
But here, tied by his wrists in this faraway ship’s cabin, all hope of disguising his rampant response was gone. When the marauding maiden strolled to his backside, he stole a glance at his fleshly sword. Oh, the shame! That rascally rapier was fully unsheathed and blatantly exposed.
A slender white hand reached from behind his back and grasped his member. The naughty ninja purred. “Why, pirate, have you misplaced your peg leg, or are you pleased to see me?”
“What are you…why are you…that’s my private area!” Colin knew he ought to be outraged…shocked!...and yet, much to his surprise, a stealthy, rapturous anticipation seized him.
“Methinks you doth protest too much,” she said, her manner arch, her clever hands encircling his manhood.
The most astonishing sensations somersaulted through his manly muscle.
“I never…that is…Headmaster Sidebottom never…”
A sharp slap on his bottom brought him up short. “Who is this Sidebottom of whom you speak? Do I have a rival? If so, I regret to inform you that he is doomed to an early, likely watery grave. No one dares to challenge Quan-yin without paying the price with his blood.”
Suddenly she was before him, her cerulean eyes dark with some unnamed, powerful emotion. “You will be mine, pirate. I find myself strangely drawn to you. Is it those sweet brown orbs, wide with feigned innocence? Is it the taut muscles of your backside, or that dainty little hole that calls to me with such a sweet siren’s voice?”
Colin squawked as her hand hovered in the crease between his two rear globes. That utterance incited an even louder squawk from Pemberley, who fluttered with alarm.
“Awk!! Buttsecks, buttsecks!”
Both pirate and ninja ignored the feathered wing-flapper, a state of affairs which, sadly, was Pemberley’s eternal lot in life.
“What is this power you hold over me? Surely I can erase this nefarious Headmaster from your thoughts!” The masterful maiden swayed closer to him. Her scent, that of tropical flowers floating on the deep blue sea, enthralled him. Helpless before this envious enchantress, his lips drifted open. No sooner had they done so than her sweet mouth latched onto his as a limpet attaches itself to a ship’s keel. Oh, the lush flavor of those twin red cherries! Oh, the nip of sharp teeth on his bottom lip! Sweet, heedless madness overtook him. He daringly plunged his tongue into his fair invader’s mouth. Her taste was exotic and fe
male, so different from the times he’d planted playful smooches on his childhood pup’s furry face.
A dizzying whirlpool of desire swept him off his feet, or would have if he hadn’t been securely fastened to the rafter. But what a delicious collapse it would have been! As it was, he bucked against his bonds, struggling to get closer to the tasty temptress. Soft pillows of flesh pressed against his bare chest. A cascade of heated sighs rose into the air. Lower down, something else rose into the air, defying Sir Isaac Newton’s Law of Gravity, published in 1687.
The eager racehorse between his thighs reared and charged like a stallion held too long in the stables.
He groaned as a taunting fingernail scraped the length of his masculinity. “Did your so-called Headmaster render you harder than my ship’s figurehead?” She squeezed.
“No! Never!”
She cupped the quivering sacks of flesh dangling below said figurehead. “Did Sidebottom caress these jewels with soft kisses as I intend to do?”
“What? No!” Surely she must be mistaken. She couldn’t really intend to place her mouth…why, she’d have to kneel down…this couldn’t be occurring, it was untoward, it was bad ton, it was…oh my, it was impossibly, wondrously transporting.
A stream of nonsense words gushed from his mouth. Good Lord Almighty, had anything ever felt so good? Certainly not the few times his own hand had stolen between his legs during his nighttime tossings and turnings. Definitely not the many times he’d pressed his nether regions against his saddle horn. No, this was…this was…
“Oh sweeting, my luscious one, please, I beg of you, don’t stop that disgraceful thing you’re doing.”
“Dith-grathe-ful?” Her mouth filled with his turgid flesh, she frowned up at him.
“No one need ever know. What occurs on Mizigumo shall never leave Mizigumo. If I survive this sweet assault, I shall tell no one of the perverted delights you perpetrated on my person.”