Night of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  She snorted and waved him off. “Go. We are done. I am not rewarding this.”

  He undid his cravat and flung it toward her from behind the door. “If I did this to Nasser he would wet himself.”

  Throwing back her head, she laughed so hard she thought her robe would fall open. She astounded even herself, because it wasn’t that funny, but—

  He tossed his coat onto the floor from behind the door. “Admit it. You want to strip me naked and tie me to the bed post and treat me like the naughty boy that I am, isn’t that right?”

  Laughing even harder and unable to catch her breath, she held up a hand. “Cease. I…I can’t breathe!”

  He unbuttoned his waistcoat and flung it across the room.

  Still laughing, she stumbled up onto her feet and staggered over to him, holding up a hand. “Stop it. The servants will see you!”

  He paused and momentarily disappeared behind the door before re-appearing again. “Nothing in the corridor but candles.”

  Letting out a breath she was just catching, she shook her head and walked over to him. Grabbing him by his arm, she tugged him inside and shut the door. Clementine took hold of his linen shirt and using the weight of her body, pushed him against the nearest wall.

  His back hit the wall with a thud and she collapsed against him. “You exhaust me.”

  His hands jumped to hold her in place. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. I want to see you laugh like that all the time. Do you hear me?”

  She lifted her gaze to his and bit back a smile. “I’ve never laughed like that before. So I guess there is hope for me.”

  His hands skimmed up to her face. “I think we’re good for each other. We are simply still realizing it.”

  She nodded and smoothed her hands against the linen of his shirt, her palms curving against the hardness of his broad chest. “I agree,” she whispered.

  His jaw tightened. He grabbed her hands and drew them to her sides. “Don’t do that unless you plan to follow through.” He hesitated. “I’ll wait for you to…invite me back into bed. All right? I’d love to go riding with you tomorrow and then the Diorama. You would love it. All of the paintings move in time to music. I haven’t gone in years.” Bringing her hands up to his lips, he kissed each one. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She swallowed and half-nodded.

  He released her hands and went around gathering up his clothing. He turned and headed toward the door, opening it. He glanced back at her from over his shoulder. “I love you, Clementine. I plan to prove it to you at every turn. Not just in bed.”

  Her heart squeezed. Despite having always denied it, this was why she had fallen in love with him through his letters during their years apart. Because he saw rainbows when she saw none.

  He lingered.

  She smiled.

  He searched her face and quickly turned and left, shutting the door behind himself.

  She pressed a cheek to the cool hardness of the wood and closed her eyes. He had been waiting for her to say the words. And all she had been able to manage was a stupid smile. She swallowed and opened her eyes. “I love you, too, Derek,” she whispered. “Very much.”

  Five weeks later

  11 Berwick Street

  After Madame de Maitenon’s most unfortunate collapse at an evening event that led to the woman being bedridden, to Derek’s surprise, the classes still continued under the rule of a different hand. Madame’s own granddaughter, Miss Maybelle Maitenon. A petite, no-nonsense blonde who was merely a more civilized version of her grandmother.

  At least that was what Derek thought.

  He eyed the leather dildo in his hand as a line of four female models swept into the room, their red robes flowing around their slim bodies and long legs.

  Derek tightened his hold on the dildo and sat frozen. They looked like gypsies. Their long dark unbound hair brushed against the fluid movements of their thighs and buttocks that were outlined by their clinging brocade robes. They all settled, standing in a row, each setting a bare right hand onto their hips as if they had practiced the art of standing before men holding dildos on a regular basis.

  Miss Maitenon swept toward the row of four women and gestured toward them. “These beautiful women will be demonstrating the dildo.”

  Oh, now, shite. How was this educational? He highly doubted Clementine, who couldn’t even manage saying ‘I love you’ would be able to manage a dildo.

  Miss Maitenon’s blue eyes brightened as she pointed to each beauty and the three other men in their seats then turned toward their newest student, the Duke of Rutherford. “Seeing there are only four women for the demonstration, Your Grace, I shall have no choice but to be the fifth.”

  Thank God she hadn’t picked him.

  Miss Maitenon continued, “An experienced and generous lover learns to keep a dildo at his bedside so that he can offer it to his lady whenever she pleases. The objective is to be creative. The more creative you are, the more pleasure it will result in. And as my grandmother always proclaims, ‘A woman has more than one entrance to occupy a man’s time.’”

  “I’d say.” Lord Hawksford stuck the end of the dildo into his mouth, waggled his brows up at his model and said through the dildo, “Do you think a woman will still respect me in the morning even with this in my mouth?”

  Derek burst into laughter with the rest of the men.

  Miss Maitenon rolled her eyes, hurried over to Lord Hawksford, and yanked the dildo out of his mouth using the wooden handle. Passing it over to one of the female models, who looked rather flushed, Maybelle glared at Lord Hawksford. “This is a classroom, my lord, not a circus-minded bordello. Allow me to demonstrate one proper use.”

  Derek sat up in his chair, praying to God she didn’t intend to lift her skirts for the demonstration.

  Making her way back to the Duke of Rutherford, she leaned down and took his hand, which already gripped the handle of the dildo. Gently, she repositioned his fingers around the wood handle, lifted the dildo to her mouth, parted her lips, and gently slid it into her mouth. As far as it would go. Toward the back of her throat.

  Derek quirked a brow, noting that the duke’s dark gaze was intently staring as if trying to measure how far it had gone. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say there was something going on between those two.

  Silence drummed within the classroom.

  Guiding his hand, Miss Maitenon slid the dildo gently in and out, in and out.

  Derek shifted in his seat and looked away. He’d never been much of a voyeur. While some of the classes had been surprisingly educational, this was ridiculous.

  Miss Maitenon slid the dildo out of her mouth, straightened, and turned back toward him and the others. “Your purpose is to deliver pleasure. Being creative is always helpful with regard to this aspect. For in the end, it does not matter where this instrument goes, but whether your lover is receiving pleasure.”

  Derek gaped at her. His dildo slipped from his hand and down onto his lap, causing his heart to skid. Snatching it back up by the wooden handle, he cleared his throat.

  She smiled. “There is no reason to be shy. If you can find it tolerable to insert a dildo into the lips of a complete stranger, I assure you, you will have no trouble inserting it into any part belonging to your lover. It is your duty to ensure that she is thoroughly sated.” She turned back to the duke, leaned over, and patted his knee. “You were ever so brilliant, Your Grace. Do you require another demonstration?”

  “No, thank you,” the man bit out.

  Miss Maitenon pointed primly to all of the ladies then to Lord Caldwell, Lord Brayton, Lord Hawksford, and to Derek, sending a dark-haired woman sashaying Derek’s way.

  Derek sank back against the chair. He hadn’t had sex since his wedding night. Clementine hadn’t asked for it. During these past five weeks, after taking walks together, shopping together, riding together, and attending events and parties, they always politely retired into their own rooms. He’d been patiently waiting
for an invitation that still hadn’t come.

  He was a good friend. He was a fucking perfect friend.

  One of the dark-haired women walked up to Derek and draped herself onto his lap for the demonstration. “I understand you are married?” she casually asked, slipping her arm around his shoulder.

  Derek half-breathed, looking past the slight opening of her robe that revealed the curves of large breasts pushed up by a corset. “Yes. I am.” He hesitated and added, “She is gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. And we’re happily married.” Which was at long last true. Sex wasn’t everything. Or at least that was what he kept telling himself.

  Her dark eyes brightened and her mouth quirked. “If you’re happily married, why are you here?”

  He groaned. “Can we not interrogate the people who are paying you and this institution?”

  She smirked. “Of course, my lord. Forgive me.” She opened her mouth and tapped on it. “Before you put it in, ensure the dildo is well lubricated. Olive oil is best but we have none on hand, so we’ll be working with your own saliva. It’s what a man always has at his disposition no matter where he goes anyway.”

  This wasn’t right.

  She tapped on the hand holding the dildo. “Lubricate. I will wait.”

  “I’m certain you will.” He cleared his throat and prompted his own mouth to produce whatever saliva it could. Shifting his arm against the woman, he cupped his other hand beneath his mouth and spit a large pool into it. He eyed the dildo in his other hand.

  “I’m waiting,” the woman prodded.

  “Wait some more,” he muttered. The bad news was that he was lubricating a dildo. The good news was that it was a dildo, which was going to keep his cock flaccid. He tapped the dildo against his hand full of saliva, dipping it awkwardly.

  She sighed. “You aren’t dipping stale bread into gravy,” she chided. Grabbing his hand, she enclosed it solidly around the leather dildo and forced his hand up and down its length. “Without proper lubrication, insertion is impossible. So lubricate.”

  He angled himself away. “Can you not…I’m intimidated right now. Which should say something.” He couldn’t believe he paid ten thousand pounds to molest a leather dildo that had been God knows where already. “I think I know my wife well enough to say she wouldn’t be interested in doing any of this.”

  She smiled. “Nonsense. You don’t know until you introduce it. If you can do this with me, a woman you just met, imagine what you can do with your wife.” She lifted his hand. “Once lubrication is complete, insert slowly and ensure it is hitting her pleasure pearl.” Directing his hand, she inserted it into her own mouth. She stroked it.

  He drew in a ragged breath, watching that dildo slide in and out of her mouth. He was going home and fucking his wife. As a…friend.

  Clementine tightened the bow of the apron around her waist, ensuring that her chartreuse gown was better protected. Once again taking up the large wooden pallet covered with an array of colored oils she had chosen, she dipped the tip of her brush into green paint and started moving the brush on different small angles across the canvas, her gaze following the small leaves she painted onto the trees lining the path of Rotten Row where she and Derek had been riding almost every afternoon. Tilting her head, she drifted into replicating even the breeze that had rustled the leaves. She pinched her lips, trying not to get overly excited about how perfect it was.

  The door to her painting room opened, making her glance over. She paused.

  Derek closed the door behind himself, tossed a satchel onto the nearest chair and took off his morning coat then flung it to the floor. “I’m home.”

  Her mouth quirked, glad she only had a few leaves to finish on her painting. “How was class today?” She returned her attention to the canvas, dipped her brush again, and dabbed at a larger gathering of leaves hanging over the painted path.

  “We studied dildos,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “How nice.” She kept painting. “Why are they having you study extinct birds?”

  He snorted. “I didn’t say dodo, darling. I said dildo.” He laughed.

  “You’re laughing at me.” She kept painting. “Are you telling me I’m supposed to know what a dildo is?”

  He cleared his throat. “No, you— We’ll talk about it another time. When it’s more…applicable. By the by, we got invited to a…risqué party by Lord Caldwell. One of the men at the school. Apparently, it became mandatory for reasons I don’t know. I like Caldwell and the other men enough to want to go. Are you up for going with me? We can always leave early. We simply can’t tell my mother.”

  “No worries. If you don’t tell my father, I won’t tell your mother.”

  “Agreed.”

  “By the by,” she added. “I have officially stopped smoking.”

  His brows shot up. “Since when?”

  “It’s been five weeks now.”

  “Five? You mean you haven’t…?”

  “Not once. I thought about it, mind you, but never once gave in.”

  “Bravo. I get to finally kiss my wife without tasting tobacco.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He strode over and shoving his hands into his pockets, lingered for a long moment beside her. He eyed the canvas. “Is that Rotten Row?”

  She nodded and kept painting. “Yes. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  He slowly crossed his arms. “The artwork is stunning, yes, but I never once rode down Rotten Row and thought to myself it was beautiful. Not when you can barely see over the heads of other riders and you’re constantly veering your horse out of piles of manure.” He glanced at her. “Out of all the things you could have honored, why Rotten Row?”

  Oh, how she loved surprising him. “I always paint things for a reason, Derek. Aren’t you going to ask why I painted it? You should.”

  He lowered his arms back to his sides. “Now I’m curious. Why?”

  “Because something happened when we were on the path yesterday afternoon. Something I want to remember.”

  “Is that right?” He shifted closer to the canvas, his brows coming together. “I’m trying to remember what happened. We went riding, talked about the Diorama, I bought a flower off some random woman for you, and then I don’t…what happened?”

  She bit her lower lip, finishing the last of the leaves and set aside the wooden pallet. Stepping back, she gestured toward it. “I had an epiphany. Try to find it.”

  He tilted his head and squinted to better look at the painting. “I see a lot of riders, horses, leaves, sky.” He glanced over at her. “What am I looking for?”

  A breath escaped her. He probably hadn’t noticed them yesterday. She hadn’t said anything. She pointed to the stretch of grass off to the side where a woman in a bonnet cradled a babe while a man in a top hat leaned in and kissed the woman’s cheek. “I decided I want that to be us. We can commence whenever you like.”

  Derek stared at the painted couple and the babe in the woman’s arms. He snapped his head toward Clementine, his brown eyes searching her face in astonishment. “We’ve only been married five weeks. Are you…really?”

  She set aside the wooden pallet and brush, let out a shaky breath and turned back toward him. “They have been the best five weeks of my life, Derek. You have proven to be…I can’t thank you enough for making me feel part of a real family. Your family. I don’t have to wait to know those happy weeks will turn into more months and then years. I saw myself holding that baby. I really did. That was us. I…you’ll be a wonderful father. And I will do my best to be a wonderful mother. That is all that matters. That I do my best and you will help me do my best.”

  His lips parted. “Clementine…I…” He stepped toward her and grabbed her face with both hands. “I love you.”

  She pressed her hands against his. “I feel the same.”

  He smirked and wobbled her face against his hands. “It wants to come out. I know it does. Can’t you say it just once? For the father of your unborn child? I promis
e I won’t ask to hear it again.”

  She bit back a laugh and managed, “I love you.”

  He grinned. “Now I believe it.” Capturing her mouth with his lips, he kissed her deeply, his tongue rolling against hers.

  She melted into his arms and kissed him back harder. It was the first kiss they had allowed themselves in two weeks and she felt herself almost staggering against it, knowing they officially shared more than passion. They shared a life.

  He broke their kiss and scrambled to remove his cravat and waistcoat, whipping them both aside. “We’re not going to make it into the bedchamber. We’re doing it here.”

  She untied her apron and tossed it at him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  He gathered his shirt and yanked it off, the lean muscles of his arms and chest flexing. “On the chair in the corner.” He tossed the shirt at her. “What do you want me to do?”

  This ought to be interesting. “Bring over the chair and the satchel.”

  His hands paused on the flap of his trousers. “Just don’t use the whip, all right? I’m really not into pain.”

  She tapped a finger to her heart. “I would never.”

  He jogged over to the chair, his trousers hanging low on his hips. Hefting it up onto one shoulder, he strode back and set it down. He opened the satchel and handed it to her. “Be merciful, my lady.”

  She reached into the satchel and pulled out the rope, tossing the rest of the satchel aside. It unraveled and coiled at her feet. She tried gathering the rope only to find it was excessively long. “Dearest Lord. She gave us enough rope to tie you to the entire building.”

  He grinned. “Not that it will hold me down.” He purposefully flexed each muscled bicep for her, including his chest muscles, before sitting in the chair and adjusting his trousers. “I’ll let you do the rest, heiress.” He set his arms around the back of the cane chair. “Don’t break the chair.”

  “I can do whatever I want, husband.” She walked over to him, the rope dragging behind her. Coming around him, she bent over and tied his hands, looping and knotting and looping and knotting again and again, until his hands and forearms were bound with every last inch of the rope. She bit her lip and peered over his bare shoulder. “I actually used all the rope.”