Nicolas wiped his mouth and removed his trousers, his penis yearning to break free. Adele lay motionless on the bed, spent, her eyes taking in his muscles and all of his manhood, large, red, throbbing. She rose to her knees and took his penis into her hand and drew it into her mouth. She loved how soft the skin felt, a silk cover for a hard rod.
“Stop,” Nicolas said with a husky voice. “I wish to pleasure you. I’ve never before felt such a desire to pleasure a woman.” He lowered his fiancee onto her back and gently placed himself ontop of her. He kissed her like he had kissed no other woman, gently but passionately.
“Enter me,” Adele whispered, feeling his member tease around her opening.
Nicolas lowered his hand to his penis and guided it to the entrance. Then he slowly thrust his hips forward, Adele gasping as it slid against her walls. She raised her hips and Nicolas moaned this time. He moved slowly, sliding in and sliding out, and when Adele grabbed his buttocks, he started to pound against her, driven by the rhythm of her moans. Adele felt the pressure building in her vagina, up through her abdomen, and when Nicolas rubbed her clitoris, she came again. She tightened around him, and he could no longer contain himself, and he came, spilling his warm seed inside the woman he loved.
When they lay spent, their bodies entwined, she looked at him and smiled. ''Did we really do a deal: money for engagement?'' He nodded and laughed. ''Well it went spectacularly wrong didn't it? '' He nodded, and they rolled about laughing, before entering into another bout of lovemaking, this time, slower, more sensual.
*****
Cyril Wright got life imprisonment for the murder of Bartholomew Pimms. According to the judge, the motive was money. He'd done gardening work for Pimms and never been paid. Bartholomew had argued that he'd claimed for more hours that he'd actually worked. He'd tried to make out that Adele had ordered the killing because he knew her husband was having an affair with Miss Leatham and it was easy to portray Adele as the vengeful wife.
Nicholas and Adele married and had a child before the Earl died. As Earl, Nicholas employed many more orphans and had the old orphanage knocked down and rebuilt. He also paid for kinder staff.
*****
THE END
The Duke of Ice – A Regency Romance
Elizabeth Hawk had heard all the rumors about the Duke of Summerset, Harold Stonewall. She had heard that he aided the King in a decisive battle against the French. Some say he aided. Others say he smashed the French with a force of one-hundred men and then allowed the King to take most of the credit. She’d heard about his two years in France, hiding in barns and on farms to avoid being spotted. She’d heard about his reputed coldness, and his inability to show emotion of any kind. She’d heard that he was twenty-seven and had yet to take a wife.
But Elizabeth knew other things, too, things about her own family. They were on the wrong side of a monstrous debt. They had been whittled down by war to one son and one daughter, and their extended family was non-existence, and their friends had become ghosts. Elizabeth knew that her family was on the verge of total collapse. Soon they would be nothing but a footnote in England’s history, something to be passed over with bored eyes.
When she heard that the Duke of Summerset was holding a party and that she had been invited, she didn’t know how to feel. She spent her days sewing and repairing gowns, helping to tend the chickens and pigs and generally acting as un-ladylike as a supposed lady could. The Hawk family had let all their servants go. Father’s gambling debts had robbed them of most of their valuables. They were almost utterly ruined.
But a party at Summerset Castle! As soon as Elizabeth heard about it, she was excited. She had not been to a party for two years. Her friends had abandoned her since Father had insulted all of their fathers. She had lived alone, Mother rarely talking, Father too busy with drinking and lamenting his past to engage in conversation. She spent her time when she wasn’t tending the livestock in books. Father had not sold their books, which was a small miracle in itself. She read as much as she could, if only to forget what was happening in the real world.
When the missive came, Father peered at it through a haze of pipe-smoke and scrunched up his face. “What’s this, then?” he said. “The Duke of Summerset wants you, Elizabeth, to attend a party at his Castle? Well, I wonder what tricks he’s playing! I’ve heard lots about him; I have! Lots! I’ve heard that he drinks human blood. Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s true! He’s a beast on the battlefield, and he drinks human blood! When he returned from France, the first thing he did was order a chalice of blood!”
“Father…”
“No!” He lurched when he shouted, spilling wine down his shirt, which was already sodden with sweat. “You cannot go!”
“Dear, she can hardly refuse,” Mother murmured over her knitting. “Think how it would look. A Duke invites you to a party; you do not refuse. You accept, despite your misgivings.”
Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile but quickly hid it with her hand. She made her face impassive again and then looked to Father, waiting for him to speak. She knew there was no use in pushing the matter. She simply had to wait. After a few minutes, Father let the letter drop to the floor and sucked on his pipe. “Fine,” he grumbled. “You can go.”
Elizabeth did not show her joy. Inside she was jumping and cheering and screaming in excitement, but outside she was impassive and still as stone. Living around Father, one learnt to hide one’s emotions. Father was not overly fond of displays of inner feelings, and Elizabeth had learnt to make herself calm in almost every circumstances, even if she was only calm on the outside. Plus, the turmoil of the past years had dulled her emotions until it was difficult to feel anything not tinged with depression.
But a party, a real party… that was something to look forward to.
“Thank you, Father,” she said quietly.
“You will need a dress,” Mother muttered.
“Yes, Mother.”
“You can have my good gown, the one I have saved.”
Elizabeth knew all about this gown. It was beautiful and elegant, with gold trimming and forest-green silk. Father had sold all of their gowns, but Mother had not allowed him to sell this one. He had fought her, but she had persevered and managed to succeed in saving it.
“Thank you, Mother,” Elizabeth said.
*****
The chandelier caught the summer light as it beamed through the high-set windows of Summerset Castle’s ball room. Elizabeth accepted a glass of wine from a server and walked to the edge of the room, where she could sit quietly and privately. The room was packed full of beautiful and noble people all laughing and joking with each other. There were only a few people not attached to a group. Elizabeth knew she had to wait to be approached by somebody, that it would be presumptuous and rude to merely attach herself to a group, but she was beginning to feel like a woman on an island sitting on this chair.
Across the ballroom was Charlotte Festrew, a girl who had once been a friend of Elizabeth’s. Father had lost money to her father and had refused to pay until violence was threatened. Afterwards, Charlotte had sent Elizabeth a short note severing all ties between them. Elizabeth knew it was foolish to hope that Charlotte had miraculously changed her mind, but she decided to try and approach her anyway.
Elizabeth’s legs were shaky, and her heart was like a war-drum, pounding, pounding. Charlotte was talking to a tall man with an elaborate beard, the mustache flicking upwards. She laughed at something he said and then turned to Elizabeth, the smile on her lips right up until the moment they met eyes. “You,” she said, her mouth hanging open for a moment.
“Who is your friend?” the man said.
“Elizabeth Hawk,” Charlotte said, with a worried look.
“Hawk? Daughter of Francis Hawk? The philanderer!”
“I do not believe he is a philanderer, sir, just a gambler.”
“Ha! This birdy has a sharp beak indeed!”
“Her family is in complete ruin,”
Charlotte said, as though Elizabeth were not standing there. “Her father has completely trampled their finances. I’ve even heard rumors that her mother has taken to a situation in an estate, cleaning and helping with the children.”
“That is not true,” Elizabeth said, aghast.
Charlotte went on, oblivious of Elizabeth. “I’ve even heard whispers that the Father has taken to roaming the highways, pistol in hand, in the hopes of robbing some poor lord or lady.”
“Liar!” Elizabeth whispered fiercely, not wishing to disturb the party.
Charlotte turned to Elizabeth with a sad smile. “How are you even here, Elizabeth? Did you sneak in?”
Elizabeth was appalled. What had she done to provoke such slander? She had never been anything but kind to Charlotte. Only two years ago they had walked together in her family’s woods, laughing and joking all the way, telling each other what great friends they were. And now here she was, being viciously abused. She didn’t know what to say. No words would form. She only stood there, mouth hanging open, tears stinging her eyes. No, she told herself. No, no, no. She made herself cold and forced the tears away.
She is playing a dangerous game, the cold part of Elizabeth thought. Does she not recall what she told me, when we walked through the woods, about a certain night in the stables with the gardener?
Charlotte and the man were laughing. Elizabeth forced herself to smile and then said, as pleasantly as she could: “Charlotte, you must tell me who does your gardens. If I recall correctly, they are absolutely beautiful.”
Charlotte’s face dropped. She choked back a laugh. “I—I’m sure I don’t—know what you—”
Elizabeth didn’t wait for her to stop stuttering. She walked straight to the door and into the gardens, where a few people strolled. She was able to find a bench and seated herself gratefully. A fine film of sweat had built upon her upper lip. She touched it with her fingertips and then looked upon the garden.
“That was quite the show,” a voice said behind her.
Elizabeth turned and the Duke of Summerset, Harold Stonewall, stepped forward.
*****
The Duke of Summerset was a well-built man, with a muscular body, strong shoulders, thick arms, and muscular legs. He wore a military jacket and soldier’s britches, adorned with a dozen or so medals. His face was clean-shaven, and his black hair was cropped close to his head. His jaw was square and strong. His eyes were blue tinged with purple. “I have frightened you,” he said. His voice was cold and calm, untouched by even the slightest emotion.
“Not—not at all,” Elizabeth said, as she overcame the initial shock. “I merely came out here for some fresh air. I did not expect to see the Duke.”
“Well, here I am.” He walked around to the bench and stood over her. “May I?”
“Of course.”
“What happened in there? Lady Barnes seemed quite angry with you.”
“Our fathers do not agree on many things.”
“I have heard,” the Duke said. “I have also heard that Lady Barnes can be sword-sharp with her tongue. You must tell me, how did you rebuff her?”
“I’m sure you have more impressive tales,” Elizabeth said. “War, France, the King.”
He waved his hand. “They are not nearly as impressive as a riposte as expertly executed as yours.”
“It is rather a scandal,” Elizabeth said, whispering conspiratorially. “If I were to tell you, I would need your word that you would not spread the rumor.”
“You have my word, upon the King,” the Duke said seriously.
“Charlotte, two years ago, had a night in the stables with her family’s gardener.”
“A night in the stables, you say? You mean they fucked?”
Elizabeth blushed to her ears. She looked down at her hands, into the bushes, anywhere but into his eyes. When she glanced back, she saw that the Duke was staring steadily at her, his eyes burning into her. She quickly looked away. “That is—err, I believe what happened.”
The Duke nodded, and then jumped to his feet. He offered his arm. “Take a stroll with me, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth accepted his arm and together they began to walk around the gardens. She was aware of the jealous eyes that peeped from behind every bush, but she didn’t care about that. All her thoughts were seized by the Duke’s presence beside hers, by his arm on hers, by the hard muscle that Elizabeth could feel through the fabric of the Duke’s jacket. He led them far to the back of the garden, where none of the other party were, and they sat on a bench.
“It is nice here,” Elizabeth said.
“It’s private,” the Duke said.
“Is that a good thing?”
“It is a great thing,” the Duke said. “I do not want to share you with the rest of the party.”
Elizabeth did not know what to say to this. She looked around the gardens, watching a butterfly chart its course from flower to flower, watching a caterpillar crawl over and around a leaf.
“Tell me, Elizabeth, what do you crave most in the world?”
Elizabeth was taken aback by this question and was not sure how to respond. What did she value most in the world? Was it riches? No. Was it love? Perhaps. Was it knowledge? Maybe. “I do not know,” Elizabeth said. “What do you, if I may, covet most?”
The Duke shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said. “I merely follow the King, and do as the King orders me.”
“That is a noble pursuit.”
The Duke shrugged again. “Tell me, Elizabeth, have you ever been kissed?”
Elizabeth was twenty years old, she had been an adult now for a long time, but she had never been kissed. She had thought impure thoughts before, and had felt horribly guilty afterwards, but in real life, she had never so much as been held by a man. “I have not,” she whispered.
She almost flinched when the Duke’s hand touched her face. He brushed her chin with his fingertips and then turned her face toward him, so they were looking into each other’s eyes. His face was calm and composed. Elizabeth made her face calm and composed, though within she was more scared and excited and alive than she had ever been. The Duke moved his hand down from her chin to her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her on the lips.
The kiss was full of passion. Feelings Elizabeth had not even known she possessed woke within her. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the Duke. He placed both his hands on her face and moved his tongue into her mouth. She allowed him, and then moved her tongue around with his, their tongues dancing. Her hands were on his shoulders, and then she pulled away, breathing heavily.
“I can’t,” she said. “We are not married. We are not even engaged.”
The Duke smiled. “The world is still so simple for you, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know—”
“I want you to stay at the Castle for a week or so, after the other guests have gone. I will write to your mother and father. It will be impossible for them to refuse.”
“What ever for?” Elizabeth said.
“So I can court you, of course, my lady.”
Elizabeth felt herself blush a fierce red. A Duke had just told her he wanted to court her. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. She only looked at him, straight in the eyes, to see if she could discover his intent. Why would a Duke want to court a poor girl from a minor family? Why would a Duke bother with her at all? Because you’re nothing like those backstabbing, two-faced, sadistic harlots in there, perhaps!
The Duke once again offered his arm. And Elizabeth once again accepted. The Duke leaned in and kissed Elizabeth on the neck. Her skin pricked with warmth, and a tingly pleasure permeated her body.
When they returned to the party, the Duke left immediately to write the letter to Mother and Father, which he would send by messenger this very day. Elizabeth could imagine her father’s fury at reading the letter, but the Duke was correct. He could not openly refuse without causing a scandal, and Father had had too many candles as it was.
&nbs
p; No, as far as Father was concerned, she was safe. But was she safe from the Duke? What, exactly, did he want from her? Thoughts whirred through her head, impure, un-ladylike thoughts, and feelings warred in her chest, lustful and frightening feelings.
That night, as she laid her head down upon the guest bed, she dreamt of the Duke.
*****
Elizabeth woke the next morning to a knock at her door. She put on the robe the Duke’s servants had laid out in the room and went to the door. Opening it, she saw a young girl with a freckled face. “The Duke wants to know if you want to breakfast with him, misses.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Elizabeth said, sounding much calmer than she felt. “I will be there presently.”
She quickly dressed in a day dress and fixed her hair, so it fell loosely to her shoulders. She looked at herself in the mirror for a moment. Her skin was so white it was almost ghostly. Her eyes were dark blue, almost black. She was thin, with a thin waist and thin neck. Her cheekbones were set high in her face, and there was something behind her eyes: a hint of mischief, of dormant playfulness.
When she entered the breakfast room, the Duke stood from his chair and waved Elizabeth in. The table was laden with pastries and cakes. The Duke pulled out Elizabeth’s chair for her and then seated himself opposite her. He smiled. “Did you sleep well, my lady?” he said.
“Very well, thank you,” Elizabeth lied. In truth, she had woken twice during the night, each time hot and flustered after a dream about the Duke, each time wanting to touch herself in a most inappropriate way. She had wanted to reach down, and just once, just touch—No, that is wrong, Elizabeth. Wrong!
Romance: Teen Romance: Follow Your Dreams (A Nerd and a Bad Boy Romance) (New Adult High School Sports Romance) Page 42
