Lady Priscilla's Shameful Secret

by Christine Merrill

  ‘Then stop talking about it,’ she said, sagging back against the arm of the divan.

  Reighland laughed as his hands circled her feet again, the thumbs rubbing firmly up and down the insteps, as though he was marking the time, waiting for some sort of answer from her. But she could think of nothing more to add, so she remained silent. If he was silent as well, then she needn’t think of ways to parry his arguments. She let her head roll back against the cushions and closed her eyes again, wishing she was back in her room and these gentle touches were part of some pleasant dream. One where nothing more need come of it than to enjoy the moment, with no response on her part required. She felt the relaxation travelling up her body until it was a struggle to keep her knees tightly together.

  But struggle she did, for that would be far too much like an invitation. The firm stroking felt too good and the heat was pooling in strange places throughout her body. That was what he had wanted, she was sure. He wanted her to respond.

  At last she gave into it, arching her back to feel her breasts pressing against the front of her dress. He tugged at her toes, until the special place between her legs was wet and tingling. He pressed her feet down into his lap to show that he was affected as well. And the knowledge that she was cradled against his aroused body sent her tea cup clattering to the rug. ‘Reighland,’ she said with a gasp, sure that he would break his word, but not nearly as frightened as she had been. ‘You are the very devil.’

  ‘You think that, do you?’ He pinched her little toe and she gasped again. ‘You must be a wicked little sinner, then, to be so easily tempted by me.’

  Then she began to feel the subtle tugging on her stockings. He was trying to pull them down her legs. In a moment, those supposedly innocent hands would begin to creep upwards to scrabble at her garters. Then there would be the sudden push that parted her knees, and the thrusting fingers that sought to soothe the way for invasion. She started upright and ready to fight against him.

  The tugging stopped and she relaxed enough to realise that his hands still rested on her heels. ‘Did I not tell you that it was not to be the way you fear?’

  She opened her eyes, wondering if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud, still unsure of what she was to say.

  ‘I can tell you are worried,’ he said patiently, still not moving. ‘I read your mind in the tension of your body, the look on your face.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘I cannot help what I feel.’

  ‘It must be very difficult for you,’ he agreed, ‘to feel so frightened.

  ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘As long as I avoid such intimacies as this, it is not an issue.’

  ‘But that would mean you would never be touched,’ he said softly. ‘And never loved. It will be safe, of course. But very lonely.’

  God, yes. She was so lonely. When she lay down at night, she had taken to pleasuring herself to ease the aching fear.

  She could feel one of her stockings beginning to sag, as it slipped from beneath her garter. She tensed, waiting. But she felt nothing but the slow drag of the silk down the length of her leg, like a long soft kiss. Then, he began to gather it, drawing it down and off her foot.

  When nothing more happened, she released a little of her fear in a sudden shudder of pleasure. He paused again and the tension in her body built. ‘But if you do not mean…then…why?’

  ‘Why this?’ He pulled the stocking the rest of the way off, rolled it and tucked it into his pocket. ‘To prove that I can, I suppose. And to prove to you that the world will not end if I touch your body. No harm has come to you, has it?’

  She thought. ‘Well, no.’

  ‘You are experiencing no discomfort?’ His fingers were now running along the bare flesh of her foot. And without meaning to, she wiggled her toes. It tickled.

  He sensed her response and changed the pressure, tracing light patterns with his fingers on the sole of her foot.

  She took a deep breath and dug her fingers into the upholstery to keep from touching herself. ‘No, I am not experiencing discomfort.’

  He began to tug on her other stocking. ‘Then I shall take the other from you as well. And put them in the dresser of your room.’

  She straightened and pulled away. The suddenness of her movement achieved his ends more completely than he could have, for the stocking came free and pooled in his hands. ‘How dare you. You are certainly not invited to come to my room.’

  He gave the final tug that freed it from her body and stuffed it in his pocket with its mate. ‘Pardon me, Lady Priscilla. I meant the room which shall be yours, when I make you my duchess. You will find it is large and most generously appointed. If there is anything you wish, other than a place for your stockings, please let me know. I will be happy to provide it.’

  It had been a foolish overreaction on her part, and she was almost tempted to apologise. But then she remembered that she was sitting with her feet in the lap of the Duke of Reighland as he talked of innocence and stripped the clothing from her body.

  And now his fingers could touch her bare toes, separating them and stroking the tender flesh between. The slow thrusts made her forget her fear and press back against his hands and his body. Her womb clenched and, as though he could feel the change in her, the movement of his fingers increased.

  ‘This is nonsense,’ she said, as though she could dismiss the feeling.

  ‘But you like it, do you not?’ He was raising the foot very slowly and she could feel the breeze on her legs as her skirt slipped up her calf. But as she stared up at him, he made no effort to look beneath it, keeping his eyes focused on hers. And then he touched his tongue to one of her toes and bit down gently upon it.

  The resulting climax took her unawares, making her whole body shake. The sensitive bud between her legs exploded with sensation. Her toes clamped together around the thickness of the thumb cradled between them. She imagined him resting snugly in her body and rode the waves of pleasure the image created.

  The tremors subsided, leaving her embarrassed but sated. And she realised what she had been doing: rubbing the other foot shamelessly against his lap, trying to arouse him to break his promise.

  But he was looking down at her with an expression that could best be described as bemused. ‘You may act as though you know it all, my dear. But I could teach you that you are sorely mistaken.’

  ‘That will not be necessary.’ Although perhaps, if they were anything like what she had just experienced, a few lessons from him would not go amiss.

  ‘You are sure? Because I am eager to oblige you.’

  She lifted her free foot out of his lap and set it firmly on the floor. ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Very well, then. I suppose you should be going soon or people will hear of the visit and wonder what we have been up to. But if you will allow me a farewell kiss…’ His fingers circled her ankle and he lifted it to his lips, fixing them upon the little knob of bone there.

  And a shock of feeling seemed to rush up her body from that point. She felt lips and tongue, and—oh, God—his teeth, rasping against it. Her nipples tightened and there was another wash of delight that left her limp and gasping on the sofa, hands clasping furiously against the cushions. Dear Lord help her, it had been twice in as many minutes. If the duke chose to press his advantage over her and take the sort of liberties she’d expected, she would be powerless to resist.

  She bent her knees quickly, yanking her foot from his grasp and putting it on the floor with its mate, giving a quick snap at her skirts so they fell back into place to cover her legs. ‘Give my stockings back. Immediately.’

  ‘No.’ He was smiling at her again, as though he knew exactly what had occurred. ‘As I told you before, they will wait in my house until you are ready to retrieve them.’

  She tucked her feet back under her skirts.
‘I cannot go about without them. Someone might see.’

  ‘Put your shoes on and be quiet about it. If you do not act as though anything is out of the ordinary, no one will notice.’ He stared down at the floor. ‘Although I would hardly blame a man for looking. You have a well-turned pair of ankles, I must say.’

  ‘It is rude of you to comment on the fact.’

  Now he grinned. ‘Hardly the rudest thing I have done in my life. I fear you will have to bear with much, when we are married. At school, it seemed I was always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. The other boys encouraged it and made me the butt of every joke. Of course, it was more amusing to them than it was to me.’ He winced in recollection. ‘Many a schoolmaster tried to cane manners into me, but as you can see, it did little good.’

  He said it lightly enough, but there was something hidden, a shadow behind that carefully guarded smile that made her wonder if Mr Hendricks was right about Reighland’s tender side. ‘Were you punished for fighting with them?’

  ‘Lord, no.’ He looked at her earnestly. ‘I was broken of that bad habit long before I was sent off to school. I was always large for my age, you see. And clumsy. I tended to squash butterflies rather than catch them.’ He shifted nervously. ‘And there was one unfortunate incident with a little friend. All boys play rough. And I did not mean to hurt him. But it took six weeks in bed to mend his broken arm.’ He said it hurriedly, as though it was a difficult moment that needed to be got through. ‘I was quite young,’ he added. ‘You needn’t fear me. I have learned to be very careful with living things. You must have noticed that I dance like a daisy-cutting horse that cannot pick up its hooves. When we wed, you will lose more than the usual amount of crockery to my accidents. But it will be no worse than that.’ He was staring at her, his expression curiously vulnerable, and she could almost see the boy who had cried over his injured playmate. But then she saw the toe of one of her stockings was peeping out of his pocket.

  ‘You have been most gentle with me,’ she assured him. ‘I know I have nothing to fear.’ Even if she did, she would do her best to master it, for his sake.

  ‘That is good to know,’ he said, clearly relieved. ‘I am sure that most of London still thinks of me as the hulking idiot whom they used to tease.’

  ‘They would not dare to embarrass you now,’ she reminded him softly.

  ‘Because I can mask my bad manners with rank. And that does seem to be the only thing that matters to some people, does it not?’ He glanced up and past her, at the door to the hall. And she wondered was he thinking of her father?

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘It is.’

  ‘But I have learned to bear it with good grace,’ he said with a smile. ‘Words and gossip do not hurt. And duelling and brawling over every slight would be far too dangerous for those around me.’

  ‘Really,’ she said, unsure of what to make of this latest insight into his character.

  ‘You will take me in hand, once we are married, and smooth my rough character.’ There was nothing at all guarded in the cheerful optimism she saw in him at the thought of marriage to her. Of all people. And to her surprise, she had to bite her tongue to keep from offering to take him in hand, right here in the parlour. After the pains she had taken to explain her problems, she was liable to undo it all with reckless words and a moment’s overconfidence in his gentle nature.

  But Reighland did not seem to notice her distress. He stood up and walked to the back of the sofa, where he had thrown her slippers. He retrieved them and came back to her, kneeling at her feet and reaching for them.

  To see him there, beneath her, gave a curious tug at her insides, as though the sight of him willingly humbled should mean anything at all to her. She gingerly put a toe out from beneath the hem of her skirt.

  In response, he lifted her foot again, cradling it as he slipped the shoe back on. Then he repeated it with the other. When it was through, he did not immediately get to his feet, but waited there, as though expecting some response from her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, biting back the urge to dismiss him like a servant. Today, his displays of devotion were making her feel more guilty than frightened. It seemed the less he asked of her, the more she felt obligated to give him.

  ‘Will you be attending the Tremaines’ ball tomorrow evening?’ he asked politely.

  ‘I think that is between you and my father. I have no say in my social schedule. But if you require my presence, I will not be permitted to refuse.’

  If he was as fond of the truth as he claimed, the statement should not have bothered him. But his expression darkened and, for a moment, she expected an angry retort. Then he mastered himself, rose from the floor and took his place beside her on the sofa. ‘I would prefer a wife willing to admit that she welcomed my company.’

  It was petty of her to refuse him that, when it was clear to them both how she felt about him. But he had tricked her into having those feelings. It was hardly fair. ‘You wished me to smooth your manners? Then you should cease upbraiding me for presenting the facts as I see them. If you and Father wish me to go to the Tremaines’, then I will do as I am told. Why must you have more from me, when you are getting your way in this?’

  He snorted in disgust. ‘I understand why you let someone else make your decisions. You have done poorly in the past and do not wish the responsibility. But at least you might think of me as a man who means to choose for himself what is right, without the guidance of society or politics. If I decide to have you, it will be because I think we suit and not for other reasons, do you understand?’

  ‘Not really,’ she said. He was the duke again, not some soft-hearted little boy who needed her love.

  ‘You will have to take me at my word, then. Until I can convince you, of course. And I mean to be quite persuasive.’

  She swallowed nervously, trying to imagine what he might do that was any more persuasive than what he had already done.

  He stood and offered her a hand, helping her to her feet. But her legs were still weak from pleasure and she tipped alarmingly in his direction.

  Without a word, his arm came out to steady her, wrapping around her waist to pull her close.

  She could not find it in herself to resist, but instead let her body melt easily into his. He was big and warm and solid against her, comforting and arousing all at once. She did not want to lose this feeling, to go home where everyone was cold and censorious. She wanted to stay here and be held.

  But to do that would mean… ‘Reighland?’ she said softly.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I enjoy your company.’

  ‘Until tomorrow night?’ he asked, as though nothing unusual had just happened. But he was smiling.

  She pulled away from him, straightened her gown and glanced at herself in the mirror, trying to pretend that nothing had changed for her, either. Despite the turmoil that raged within her, not a hair was out of place. And although she had never intended to be happy, her reflection told another tale. She was smiling as well. ‘Until tomorrow night,’ she agreed.

  Chapter Ten

  Monsieur G. has returned to London after a prolonged absence. He will likely have a certain lady hopping to his tune, though lately she has been leading the Duke of R. on a merry dance.

  Robert fingered the bit of newsprint in his hand, then threw it into the fire. He’d seen the comment already, in the morning paper, and hardly needed a second copy, delivered anonymously by post. The purpose behind it was quite clear: someone wished to expose Priscilla to ridicule and to anger him sufficiently to part from her.

  That they’d made doubly sure that he could not miss the scrap of gossip angered him almost more than the thing itself. It was not enough that they bandied his name about in the news. But it seemed they felt the need to explain the significance of it, as tho
ugh he could not read for himself. They were making him feel slow and stupid, just as they always had.

  But who were they? He reminded himself firmly that if he could not manage to put a name to the persons bothering him, then their opinion hardly mattered. Receiving the little notice was embarrassing, he could hardly say otherwise. But he must remember it would be far worse for Priscilla. And there was probably nothing to it. The fact that this Gervaise fellow was once more in a city of over a million meant nothing to him, nor should it mean anything to her.

  Other than bad memories, of course. He understood the power that those might have. But his were little more than childhood nonsense and hers were quite different. Priss had been near to panic the first time they’d danced and again when he’d tried to make love to her. Robert was still not sure if any man her father had chosen would have received a similar reaction, or if her fear of him was out of the ordinary.

  But he was quite sure that she was not attempting to frighten him away so that she could run back into the arms of her first lover. She’d given him no reason to think that she remembered Gervaise with anything less than contempt. If there was anything to this ugly little bit of news, she would certainly tell him. She had been honest enough about the subject before. It was that very honesty that had drawn him to her in the first place. And if she still wanted to lose him, there could be no quicker way than to admit that she preferred another.

  He would ask her when he saw her tonight and see what she had to say on the subject. Then he’d ask her if she still ‘enjoyed his company’. From any other woman he’d have thought it faint praise. But Priscilla had purred it at him, as if it had some other meaning entirely. Though he’d have preferred her to call him by his Christian name after what had gone on in the salon, she pronounced his title in a way that made him think Reighland was a very lucky fellow indeed to have won such a lady.