Dukes In Disguise

by Grace Burrowes, Susanna Ives, Emily Greenwood

  “I want to feel you inside of me,” she whispered and kissed his lower lip.

  She hadn’t expected his jaw to tense or for panic to darken his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I’m scared I might hurt you, or you won’t enjoy it. Or—”

  “Hush,” she whispered and let her mouth and tongue allay his fears.

  His hand eased up her thigh, his strong, hot palm soothing her soft skin. She paused in their kiss when his fingers reached her wet folds. She shivered with anticipation. His tongue lapped hers as his finger slowly penetrated her. Inch by inch, he progressed, allowing her time to accommodate his presence. She released a low hum in deep satisfaction. He had ventured into a place no other person had known. She gave him the most sacred parts of her heart and body. His finger started to move, in and out, pushing and pressing.

  The sensation resonated, deep and intense. Her body pressed against his hand, begging for more. Then his thumb found that small mound again. She tore her lips from his, tossed her head, and cried out as his thumb caressed her. His mouth found her hardened nipple, and his tongue lapped it.

  She had no will anymore. She was completely at his mercy. He slid another finger inside, thrusting quickly as he pressed against her inner walls. The sensation of widening to him only intensified the sweet pressure that had grown so acute and powerful, she felt she might break apart from it.

  He continued to stroke, whispering her name, telling her of his love. She couldn’t respond. Her mind had turned dark, her lungs stopped. She teetered on some thin blade that cut with pleasure, not pain.

  Then one touch more—the softest graze across her mound. Her body exploded beneath her skin. Tension flowed out in wild, cresting waves. She pushed frantically against him, grinding him deep into her, until she calmed like waters after a storm.

  Then she collapsed onto him, her body spent.

  * * *

  Now she rested, her soft contours molding to his hard ones, her breath as gentle as lapping waves. He tried to think calming thoughts to relieve his burning erection. He told himself that he had given her pleasure, and that was all that mattered. His own needs could be ignored for the evening. There would be a lifetime of other nights.

  And in truth, he was terrified of truly taking her innocence.

  His gaze swept down her body. One of her breasts, nipple erect, was flattened against his chest. “My beautiful wife,” he whispered.

  “We are not married yet.”

  He touched the tip of her nose. “In my mind we are. We only need to say a few vows and sign our names. Trifling matters.”

  “My husband,” she whispered, trying out the words. They sounded like gentle rain on his ears. He snuggled her closer. After all his sins and mistakes, what merciful God in heaven allowed him to have her? He remembered Harris’s words to endeavor to be worthy of her.

  “I love you,” he said. “I love you so very much.”

  He received a stunning smile in reply. She wrote on his chest with her finger, I love you too, and then let that finger trail down his body, coming to his problem.

  “Your p-penis,” she stammered from shyness.

  He chuckled and guided her hand away. “It’s a little late to blush, Mrs. Stephens. But it is well. Do not be concerned about my penis.”

  “I’m very concerned about it, husband. We never, that is to say, I don’t think we performed the proper act as I understand it. I think. I’m not so certain of these things.”

  “Would you like to?” he asked in somber tones.

  “Will it give you the same pleasure that you gave me?”

  “I would hope it would give us both pleasure, my love.” But he was frightened that she wouldn’t enjoy it. He had tried his hardest to prepare her so she wouldn’t feel any pain. What if his efforts weren’t enough? What if he hurt her? What if he broke her burgeoning confidence?

  She drew her arm around his shoulder and kissed him. “Yes, then.”

  He eased between her legs. His back was quaking as he drew up her knees. Then he interlaced their fingers and raised her arms above her head. Her body was wet and softened, ready for him.

  He watched her as he slowly pressed. Her body rose to accept him, snugly holding him within.

  “My love,” he choked, feeling her walls press around him. “Have I hurt you?”

  “Of course not,” she replied, clearly unsure why he would ask. “I feel absolutely perfect. As if I’ve been waiting for you all my life.”

  As I’ve been waiting for you. He closed his eyes and began to gently stroke, showing her what a good husband he could be.

  * * *

  Outside, dusk had deepened into night. Lucere and Estella lay in the darkness, cocooned in peace. Her cheek rested on his chest, their bodies exhausted from making love again and again. “Talk to me, Estella,” he whispered. “Tell me everything about yourself. Start from your first memory.”

  “I think it is you who should tell me about your life.”

  He considered and then chuckled. “It began today.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  * * *

  Estella quietly left Lucere’s chamber a little before dawn. How different she felt from the nervous woman who had tiptoed down that corridor the day before, so sure her life was over. Now she was almost stuffed with happiness, as if she had gorged upon it like a starving woman.

  She dressed carefully, donning her ball gown for the occasion, simply because it was her best dress—the only one without a discreet patch or stain. Soon, the ambers and oranges of dawn glowed behind the trees. A rooster heralded the fresh morning. Estella heard a tap on the door, and she opened it to find Stephen dressed in his handsome blue coat again.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Stephens,” he said and then kissed her forehead. “How did you contrive to become more beautiful since I last saw you?”

  “I’m not beautiful.”

  “My dear, you are welcome to squabble with me over any topic—I adore a lively debate—but upon the subject of your beauty and my steadfast affections for you, I shall suffer no opposition.”

  He held out his arm for her to take, and then he led her out of the house, through the back garden, and into the woods. By the Roman mosaic ruins, he knelt down and asked her formally to marry him. Estella wasn’t one to believe in specters, but she had the sensation that her grandfather was there, his lovely spirit around them.

  Later, she dressed her mother and set her in her invalid chair. Her mother remarked that her daughter’s eyes were uncommonly brilliant. And why was she wearing her best gown in the morning? Had this something to do with the handsome lodger? Estella kept her secret until Stephen joined her. Holding her fiancé’s hand, Estella told her mother her news in soothing tones, trying to keep her calm.

  “You are the Duke of Lucere and not the tutor?” her mother asked him, even after Estella had explained. He affirmed. Estella expected her mother to carry on in transports that her daughter was marrying a duke, and not any everyday duke, but the great Duke of Lucere.

  Mama surprised her. She leaned toward Stephen. “I’m sure you realize that you have won the hand of an incomparable lady.”

  He glanced at Estella. “I am humbled that she would consent to have me.”

  Her mother’s face turned serious. “Promise me that you will take excellent care of her. As she has taken of me.”

  “I promise,” he said soberly.

  The twins were not so moved by deep love. Upon being given the news at breakfast, which Mr. Harris and Lottie had cooked, the twins stared, the truth rapidly sinking in.

  “We’re going to London!”

  They burst from their chairs and began dancing in wild circles, giggling and babbling about plays, balls, shopping, and fashionable gentlemen.

  Estella was mortified. “My dears, this is not what is important! We shall be happy again. A close, loving family. Dresses and balls are no matter!”

  The twins didn’t hear this. They were deaf
to words concerning proper behavior.

  “May we have an India shawl?” Cecelia shamelessly asked Stephen.

  Estella wanted to slide under the table and hide. What must Stephen think of his new sisters? He only gave them a bemused smile and winked at Estella.

  “If,” he said sternly, holding up a finger, “you do not giggle for six months—not one little peep—devote yourself to your studies, and assist your sister in managing our home, I shall give you each one.”

  The twins were overwhelmed and almost sank into the forbidden giggles before catching themselves. Instead, they clasped each other’s hands and made painful, high humming sounds through tight lips to prevent the prohibited twitters from escaping.

  Estella should have felt exhausted—she hadn’t slept at all—but near Stephen she felt more awake than she had in years and years. She wanted to pass the morning with him, just touching him and talking and marveling that she would spend the rest of her life with this wonderful man.

  But he dashed her hopes. He had business to attend in town, he told her. But he kissed her and promised to return shortly.

  “What if Mr. Todd calls?” She panicked.

  “I believe you will be out.”

  Feeling unmoored with Stephen’s absence, Estella headed out of habit to the kitchens and found Lottie scrubbing the pots. The woman turned around, still holding the plate she was washing, dripping water on herself and the floor.

  “Is it true, miss? Mr. Harris said you are going to be a princess and that we will all live in a castle where a Frenchie man makes cakes for us.” Her hopeful face crumbled. She shook her head. “But that can’t be true. Can it? He is making jest of me like the townsfolk. Because I’m not smart like everyone.”

  Estella smiled. “Lottie, it’s true. It’s all true.”

  * * *

  The happy, one-toothed pig herder pointed Lucere and Harris to Todd’s home. It was a newly built home, boasting numerous gabled windows and heavy cornices. The greed for elegance only created the opposite effect.

  A housekeeper opened the door, and Lucere announced himself as “the Duke of Lucere” and asked for an audience with Mr. Todd. Lucere and Harris were led to a drawing room that was an assault to good taste. The walls were covered in a mustard-colored paper and dotted with parakeets of all hues. The elaborate chimneypiece could have come from Versailles. Turquoise sofas and gray marble tables were gathered around a pastel carpet. Lucere already wanted to punch the man, and his drawing room did little to quell his aggression.

  Harris was not so perturbed. He merely mentioned that he had never seen a red parakeet before and wondered if they existed.

  Finally, Todd entered. A suspicious look furrowed his brow. He spotted Lucere and snarled, “What is this?” Only after this gracious greeting did Todd seem to register Lucere’s fine clothes and the gold ring glinting on his finger.

  Lucere smiled, enjoying himself. He ambled over to a side table and picked up an ivory box, turned it in his hand, and set it down. “I came to spare my fiancée, Miss Primrose, a scene that would prove unpleasant to her should you wait upon her today. Miss Primrose has consented to marry me, and therefore, I ask that you no longer press her with your unwanted affections.”

  “Marry you? You’re the Duke of Lucere, are you?” Todd barked a laugh. “What were you yesterday? Mr. Stephens, the tutor. No doubt, the courts of England have another name for you. I thought Estella was unstable, but this is utter madness.”

  Lucere waved to Mr. Harris, who brought forward a pouch. Lucere handed it to Todd. “I believe the mortgage, as well as the other debts you had taken upon yourself to pay without Miss Primrose’s consent, totals 3,120 pounds. Inside are 200 pounds. I can pay you the rest by a cheque from the Bank of England at this moment, or if you doubt my identity, you may wait for my man of business, who will be arriving in three days’ time with a special marriage license.”

  Todd gazed at him and then the money. His upper lip quivered. “She is promised to me,” he growled. “By accepting you—whoever you are—she has breached her promise, and I shall act accordingly.”

  “Why?” Lucere shrugged in the face of the man’s fury. “Will it win her affections? Will hurting her be the only way you assuage your damaged pride? I do not understand your reasoning, unless you mean to win at all costs.”

  “She is mine!” he thundered. “I own her. Her mother would have been in debtors’ prison years ago if it weren’t for me. And if you are the true Duke of Lucere, you should thank me. For you did nothing for her but let her sink further and further down.”

  Todd landed an emotional punch to Lucere’s gut. Lucere staggered under its blow.

  The banker continued. “So you’ve won her faithless heart. Congratulations. She’ll use you like she used me. Only, I’m not blind to her true grasping, whorish nature.”

  Lucere’s fist smashed Todd’s chin, knocking his head back. Todd stumbled, then righted himself on a marble table.

  “You disrespect me in my own home.” Todd wiped his bloodied mouth and charged.

  Lucere deflected the man’s coming punch and used Todd’s momentum to throw him down. “You will not insult or belittle my fiancée,” he said, pressing Todd’s face into the carpet. “You will not intimidate or threaten her ever again. Yes, I admit I should have known about Miss Primrose’s straits and taken her away long ago. That is a regret, among many, that I will harbor for the rest of my life. But I know enough of your character to give no consequence to your insults. And in your heart, you know Miss Primrose is loving and kind, to her very bones. Her outer beauty is but a glimmer of the treasures in her heart. That is why she would never willingly have you and why you so desperately desire her.”

  “She is no such thing,” Todd spat.

  “I tell you this, if you continue in your harassment of her, I shall have no scruple denouncing your bank throughout England. I will ruin you as you attempted to ruin her.”

  Lucere released the man and rose to his feet. “Come, Harris, I think we have concluded our business here, unless Todd requires further proof of my devotion to my wife and the lengths I will go to defend her honor.”

  Todd did not.

  * * *

  Outside, Lucere gazed up at the clear sky hanging over the fields and lodgings of Puddlebury. “I used my title to threaten Todd,” he told Harris. “He would not have succumbed so easily had I been rich John Smith. You say I am worthy of the title, and I contend that I am not.”

  He held up his palm, halting the words waiting on Harris’s lips.

  “It is no matter. The title has been a gift bestowed on me, and I must use its powers wisely and justly.” He chuckled. “How ironical. I’m getting ‘shackled,’ as they say, in a week’s time. I’m a duke of vast responsibility, but I’ve never felt so liberated in my life.”

  Harris had no commentary on this great moment of epiphany, except a practical suggestion. “Let us buy something lovely for Miss Primrose so she will not ask questions concerning your whereabouts and receive answers that will distress her.”

  “You are always three steps ahead. Why do I think my father merely wore the title Duke of Lucere, but you filled the true office?” He held out his hand. “Thank you, Harris. You didn’t give up on me when you should have.”

  Harris didn’t shake his hand or respond to Lucere’s earnest gratitude, but Lucere knew the man appreciated it. They ambled along the street until they reached a grocer, where a young girl stood among the cabbages and turnips selling flowers. Lucere requested the pale pink geraniums.

  “Catherine’s favorite,” Harris remarked. “I think she would have adored Miss Primrose. They are a great deal alike.”

  “They are,” Lucere agreed. And then his throat tightened. He hurriedly paid for the flowers. “Come, Harris, let’s make haste home.” Time was precious and shouldn’t be idly wasted away from the people he loved.

  He found Estella sitting on the drawing room sofa, her head bent over her sewing.


  She lifted her gaze to meet his. “My love, I’ve missed you.”

  Her smile warmed him like the Italian summer sun. One day very soon, he would take his duchess of light to Rome so she could experience that sun and its glorious shine.

  The End

  Gentle Reader,

  Once upon a time at a RWA conference, Grace Burrowes, Emily Greenwood, and I were chilling out and sipping wine at the hotel bar when Grace suggested that we should write an anthology. I had to think about her proposal for a whole two seconds before eagerly agreeing. However, I had never written a novella and was rather intimidated after the first shine of inspiration (and wine) had worn off. Luckily, Grace and Emily were amazing mentors and made the entire process a true joy. Best of all, I was able to work with these talented, smart, and fabulous women. I hope you garner as much happiness from these stories as we had brainstorming and writing them.

  If you would like to read more of my work, please check out my Victorian comedies Wicked Little Secrets and Wicked, My Love.

  Sign up for my newsletter to receive information about my exciting upcoming releases.

  My website contains excerpts of all my works, as well as interesting historical tidbits. Please stop by!

  Susanna Ives

  KISS ME, YOUR GRACE

  * * *

  EMILY GREENWOOD

  For Jennifer

  Chapter One

  * * *

  “Louisa, I do not need any wine,” Claire Beckett said to her friend Louisa Firth as they sat before a cozy fire. It was late in the evening, and the hearth around which they were relaxing was in the handsome sitting room at Foxtail, the Duke of Starlingham’s hunting box.

  About once an hour since arriving three days before, Claire had reflected on the outrageousness of being at the lodge. Louisa, whose position as Foxtail’s housekeeper would be in danger should it ever become known that she’d invited Claire to stay, had dismissed Claire’s worries, insisting that no one would ever know since they were as good as alone there. But Claire couldn’t help being concerned.