My Fair Duchess

by Megan Frampton

  She found boldness enough to move her hand down lower on his body, putting her palm directly on that part that stuck out at a gravity-defying angle.

  And he hissed in response, closing his eyes as his finger—now joined by another—kept moving inside her.

  “How does it feel?” she echoed, nearly unable to say the words because of the sensations flowing through her.

  He opened his eyes and smiled. “Saucy wench,” he replied, increasing the movement of his fingers. Making her unable to speak, squeak, or make any kind of noise at all beyond a general gasping that, if she were to think about it, was a sound quite unbefitting a duchess.

  But entirely befitting a woman in the throes of passion.

  “Come for me, Genevieve,” he said, his tone urging her to somewhere, even if she didn’t understand the specific words he was saying.

  And then she felt as though she were falling and flying all at the same time, a force of something flowing through her whole body. She uttered a noise, louder this time, and he leaned forward and silenced her with a kiss, a ravaging, possessive kiss that she welcomed.

  The feeling lasted for what seemed like hours, and yet seconds, obliterating everything else she was aware of or felt.

  At last, she settled, and blinked to clear her gaze, only to see him smiling in supreme satisfaction.

  “That felt good, didn’t it?” he asked.

  “You know it did,” she replied. Her hand was still on him, and he was still huge and hard under her palm. “Is there—?” and then she stopped, not certain just how to ask.

  “No, I will take care of that later,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed her again, this time a soft kiss that still felt as though he owned her. As though they belonged together.

  Which was the opposite of the truth.

  Letter

  Dear Genevieve,

  I thought of you as I took my cock in my hand.

  Archie

  (not sent)

  Chapter 24

  Archie wasn’t sure quite how he managed to get back to his room without embarrassing himself. He did try to hide things by holding his jacket in front of himself, wrapping his cravat loosely around his neck. If he saw anyone, he’d just say—well, he didn’t know what. His mind was too full of images of her to come up with a complete sentence. Likely something about stables and emergency and help.

  But he didn’t see anybody. He flung his bedroom door open and closed it just as firmly, leaning against the door in relief. Tossing his jacket to the floor, even though he certainly didn’t have a valet to clean up after him. He was essentially a servant, after all.

  She tasted so sweet. He wished he had been able to taste her, there, but it was enough to bring her to pleasure with his hands. He lifted his fingers to his mouth and licked them.

  So sweet. And her face when she came—startled, and passionate, and satisfied all at once. He would be replaying the memory of her face in his mind for a long time, he knew.

  He staggered over to his bed, falling onto it gracelessly. Lying on his back and immediately reaching his right hand down to the fall of his trousers, undoing the placket to release his erection.

  What would it feel like if she were to touch him?

  Her hand would be smaller. It might not encircle his cock, as his own hand was doing now. His thumb and index finger met, and he began to stroke himself.

  “Slowly,” he said in a whisper, a reminder to himself as well as what he wished he could say to her. “Just like that,” he said, closing his eyes as he thought about what she would look like if she were here.

  She’d be concentrating on her task, biting her lip as she eased her palm up and down his shaft.

  Would she be naked? He paused as he considered it. Partially naked, yes. Perhaps wearing only her stockings and some duchessy pearls or something.

  In between there’d just be Genevieve. Her breasts, released from her shift. He hadn’t seen them yet. He wished he could lick her nipple, drag his teeth gently across it as he cupped their fullness in his hands.

  That would be for next time, getting to see her breasts. If there was a next time.

  The unpleasant thought intruded before he could push it away. He had no place to be touching her. He was a servant. She was a duchess. There was no way they could be together in any way, and yet here he was—well, he was by himself. He wasn’t doing anything that would hurt her in any way, so he might as well continue with the fantasy, now that he’d started.

  He took a deep breath and began to touch himself again. Rubbing a little faster now, thoughts of how her breasts would bounce as she moved making him even harder. How she would lick her lips as she looked at his cock, thinking about what it would feel like if he pushed inside her soft, wet warmth.

  Fuck, he wanted to bury himself inside her, thrust until they were both panting. He was panting now for real, his hand moving even faster, his thumb rubbing across the slit on top, rubbing the moisture he found there down his shaft.

  She’d watch as she moved her hand up and down, watching his face to see what he liked. Her gaze returning to his cock as she brought him close, so hard, so fast, so—“Uhhh,” he groaned as he climaxed.

  He lay there for a moment, his chest heaving, his hand still on his cock.

  It was hopeless, he knew that, and yet he couldn’t keep himself from imagining it.

  Imagining what it would be like if he could be naked with her, as an equal, with her being his partner. For now, forever.

  What would it take to make that happen?

  He didn’t know. But he would do his damnedest to find out.

  “Mr. Salisbury?” Archie heard the tap on his door through the thick miasma of sleep. He’d dropped off fairly quickly the night before—a satisfying climax had a way of ensuring that—and he’d been dreaming of something unpleasant, he could tell, from how his chest was pounding.

  It didn’t mean he wanted to be woken up at—he glanced over at the clock—seven o’clock in the morning, but it didn’t seem he had a choice.

  “What is it?” he called. He thought the voice belonged to Chandler, the butler, but he wasn’t certain.

  “A Lady Sophia is waiting for you downstairs. I’ve already informed the duchess that she is here.”

  Archie froze, then scrambled out of bed, his gaze darting around the room for his clothing. “Here?” he said, nonsensically, since why would Chandler say she was here if she wasn’t?

  “Yes,” Chandler replied, his tone not revealing what an idiotic question Archie had asked. Thank goodness for good servants, Archie thought.

  “I’ll be down in ten minutes,” Archie replied, donning fresh linen and then finding a pair of trousers that hadn’t been lying on the floor all night and putting those on.

  What was his employer doing here? The thought struck him that perhaps there was some sort of emergency—after all, Lady Sophia did not generally like London and tried to avoid it as much as possible—and he would have to leave soon, if not today.

  And he wouldn’t see her again. Not until after she was married, since it wouldn’t be long before some gentleman persuaded her to marry him.

  If he hadn’t thought of how he could marry her. She’d have to get married eventually, wouldn’t she?

  He felt his chest tighten at the thought.

  It was with a feeling of foreboding that he descended the stairs to the sitting room only eight minutes later.

  “My dear, you look in such good health,” Aunt Sophia exclaimed.

  Genevieve returned her compliment with a smile that was only slightly yawn-tinged.

  She hadn’t slept much the night before—how could she, when thoughts of what he’d done and where he’d touched her were running through her mind? She hadn’t known it was possible for a body—specifically, hers—to feel that much pleasure. And she very much wished she could feel it again, even though she knew she should not.

  It would be her fault if they continued to interact in such a way. She knew he
wouldn’t have approached her if she hadn’t indicated she was approachable.

  “Thank you,” she replied. The door opened and her grandmother came in, looking remarkably awake.

  “Good morning, Sophia,” she said as Genevieve sprang up to guide her to her chair. “It is very early, is it not? Byron woke me to chatter at the birds,” she said, smiling.

  “It is early, but I just had to come,” Sophia replied. She was looking at Genevieve as she spoke, and Genevieve felt herself awash in guilt. Did her godmother know what Genevieve had done? And what had been done to her by Mr. Salisbury’s clever fingers?

  And now she was starting to blush, so if her godmother didn’t know anything before, she certainly would suspect something now.

  “The estate is doing well, of course, with Mr. McCready in charge,” her godmother said. Or Sophia wouldn’t notice anything at all because she was too engrossed in telling her own story. “But now that Mr. Salisbury is off the estate helping you it is so lonely at Waterstone Manor. Nobody comes to visit, not the way they did before.” She smiled in satisfaction at Genevieve. “So I thought I should just come for a visit so I could see people. And I am expecting that Mr. Salisbury will be able to return with me, since it appears that he has helped you enormously. The butler was all that he should be, and the house looks lovely. And you,” she exclaimed, peering at Genevieve. “You do not look at all like someone who has just come into Society. You are so fashionable, if I didn’t know you I would think you were too high in the instep to speak with me.”

  Genevieve returned her godmother’s smile, inwardly wanting to smirk at the old-fashioned slang she used.

  Thankfully, she’d been unable to sleep anyway, so Clarkson had already gotten her dressed, which meant that she only had to keep her godmother waiting a minute or so.

  The door opened again, and this time it was Chandler opening the door for Archie—Mr. Salisbury—who came in with a faint blush staining his cheekbones. What did he think about what had happened? Was he appalled at her behavior? Was he wishing it didn’t happen?

  Was he wondering if it would ever happen again?

  “Mr. Salisbury!” Lady Sophia waved at him as though she were worried about being seen, dislodging Truffles, who tumbled to the ground in a disgruntled heap. The dog got up and shook himself off, glaring at Archie as he did so.

  “My lady,” Archie replied, bowing. “Your Grace,” he said, turning to look at Genevieve, whose breath caught as she saw him.

  It wasn’t fair that he was so handsome all of the time. She knew that Chandler had just woken him up, and yet he looked . . . perfect. Perfectly dressed, perfectly appropriate. Not as though he had kissed her senseless, then did whatever he’d done to her to make her feel those things.

  “Good morning, Mr. Salisbury,” her grandmother said in a cheerful chirp. As though she were channeling her cat.

  “Good morning,” Genevieve murmured, feeling her cheeks start to warm. Why wasn’t there some sort of protocol for what a duchess should do when the man who’d brought her such passion greeted her the next morning?

  Perhaps she should write an etiquette guide for similar duchesses in the situation. Of whom she was the only one.

  So never mind.

  “Mr. Salisbury, I was just telling the duchess that the manor has been very lonely without you.” Lady Sophia scooped Truffles up again and placed him on her lap. “Not so many people visiting, and I thought I would pop up and save you the trip home. You can return with me in a week or so.”

  Genevieve’s throat tightened at her godmother’s casual announcement. And then her cheeks really started to flush as she couldn’t help but look at him—only to find him staring at her. If looks could kill, could they kiss?

  Because if they could, she was getting thoroughly kissed right now, judging by the look in his eyes.

  She lowered her gaze before even her grandmother could see what was going on between them.

  “A week.” Archie’s tone sounded strained, and her heart fluttered in a fierce joy. He didn’t want to leave. But she couldn’t keep him, not without betraying her godmother’s trust and causing potential scandal.

  She would have to let him go.

  “A week, maybe two,” Lady Sophia replied. “I know I am not fond of London but I thought perhaps that would change if you were to show me around the city,” she said, nodding toward Genevieve. “And it appears you have done a wonderful job, even better than I’d imagined, Mr. Salisbury,” Lady Sophia continued. “I know you won’t begrudge his return, Genevieve, since he’s done so well for you.”

  “Of course,” Genevieve said in a soft voice. She wished she weren’t so relieved at the prospect of having him around for longer than she’d first thought. That would only make the inevitable parting even more painful.

  “And I do apologize for arriving so early. It is just that I had the thought in the middle of the night, and I discussed it with Truffles, and we decided we just wouldn’t wait.” Lady Sophia smiled as though her impetuous behavior wasn’t in the least bit odd. Probably because she didn’t think it was. Nor did Truffles, it seemed, who had also been consulted.

  And now she was thinking the dog had actually had a part of the conversation. She really was not thinking properly today.

  Genevieve felt sorry for the servants, who would have had to scamper around preparing her godmother for the journey. They were likely wishing Mr. Salisbury to the devil since he was the cause of everyone’s early rising.

  “So what are we doing today?” Lady Sophia continued, smiling brightly at everyone in turn.

  Uh—I was going to review just what your steward did to me the night before, Genevieve thought. And then wonder if it would ever happen again, and if so, when was the earliest that could be?

  “I—I didn’t have any plans,” Genevieve replied when no one else spoke. Because she couldn’t really share her true thoughts. Not without explaining all sorts of things she could barely explain herself.

  “Excellent! I have been wanting to go look at St. James’s Palace. Do you think the Queen will be there?”

  “Perhaps,” Genevieve began, “but it is not likely that she will be outside sweeping the steps or anything.”

  “But you’re a duchess, you could call on her, couldn’t you? I’d love to meet the Queen,” Lady Sophia said in a dreamy voice.

  “Oh, me too,” Gran chimed in. Making Genevieve glare in her direction, only of course Gran couldn’t see her. Thank goodness.

  “We can’t go meet the Queen,” Genevieve said in a squeakier voice than she’d had a few minutes earlier.

  “The duchess is right,” Archie said in a smooth voice. Genevieve glanced gratefully at him, then kept looking at him because she wasn’t an idiot. “They announced in the papers that the Queen has gone to one of her summer houses. No, I don’t know which one, either,” he said, forestalling the ladies’ inevitable questions.

  “Oh, well, but I still would like to see the palace. Mr. Salisbury, you can stay here and review the accounts Mr. McCready sent up for your review.”

  Genevieve opened her mouth to object, only to realize that she couldn’t. Not only was Mr. Salisbury a servant, he was not even her servant. She couldn’t in any way ask that he accompany them, she couldn’t say that it wasn’t appropriate for him to be doing anything but serving her, and she couldn’t—well, she just couldn’t. None of it. Any of it.

  She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and nodded. “Perhaps you would want to rest a bit from your journey, Aunt? I need to have something to eat”—although nothing will fill up the ache in my heart—“and I want to ensure that Chandler knows of our plans over the next few days. Our new cook will be very excited that I have company; I am certain thus far she has been sadly disappointed in how much I am able to consume.”

  “Wonderful. Meanwhile, your grandmother and I will just sit and have a gossip. Perhaps talk about some young men you might have met?” Lady Sophia said in a leading voice.

>   Some young man—oh goodness! She’d entirely forgotten! “Uh, as it happens, there is a young man staying here. One of my relatives, a Sir William Garry, is here, as is his sister, Miss Evelyn Garry.”

  “And he is young? And unmarried?” Lady Sophia asked. “Perhaps he should join us on our trip?” She settled back and gave Truffles a firm pat on the head. Truffles did not seem pleased. “That means it makes even more sense to wait a bit until the household is entirely up. I am looking forward to meeting your young man.”

  “Now that she is established as the duchess, Vievy will have no shortage of young men,” her grandmother added. Unhelpfully, in Genevieve’s eyes.

  She couldn’t help it, she glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at her any longer, instead keeping his focus at the other end of the room, for some reason. She craned her neck to see what he might be looking at; nothing there, unless he was passionately interested in that shepherdess her relative had manhandled only a few weeks ago. Someone had removed it from its prominent position on the bedside table to another table out of the way. Had the shepherdess complained? Had he heard about it?

  What was she even thinking?

  She shook her head and returned her attention to the conversation between Lady Sophia and her grandmother, which was nearly as ridiculous as her own conversation regarding the harassed shepherdess.

  “One of the members of the royal family would be a fine husband for our Vievy,” she heard Lady Sophia say, not only adopting her grandmother’s nickname for her, but also suggesting she marry a man she’d never met who wasn’t Archie.

  It was a safe bet that the unknown gentleman couldn’t get her nearly as worked up as Archie could. Could any man?

  She had to say she highly doubted it.

  “But we want Vievy to be happy,” her grandmother replied. Finally, Genevieve thought. Someone who was concerned about her needs, not what the title could garner. “So I would think she would want to inquire about one of those foreign kings, someone who would show her new exotic lands.”