Her Mystery Duke

by Blackthorne, Natasha

  “Yes.”

  “But why? You’ve had your pleasure. Twice tonight.”

  “I want…I just want it.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Your seed.”

  “Why?”

  Because it was the tangible proof. Proof she had pleased him. Proof that he wanted her. But she saw where he was leading with this. She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

  He rubbed the head over her lips, wetting them with a sudden profuse outpouring of fluid. She licked the saltiness off and hunger to taste more of him wracked her.

  “David, please.” Urgency pulsed with every beat of her heart. “What is it you want to hear?”

  She heard the trembling in her voice and cringed. She sounded quite desperate.

  “Tell me that you want to please me. You want live here and await my pleasure always.”

  No, no, she couldn’t give up. Sexual congress brought out this needy side of herself. This desire to put a man’s pleasure above all. But it was just carnal hunger. She couldn’t give in and risk everything else in her life. Risk losing all her dreams and goals.

  He was asking for too much commitment. She had a future beyond serving the needs of men. Dr. Edmonton was wrong. She was meant for greater things than being a whore. Or a kept woman.

  But there was more to it. Men wanted too much from women. If she gave in she’d never be her own person. Never have her peace and solitude. He would encroach little by little into her life until there was no room for anything but his needs. She shook her head.

  “As you wish,” he said and he walked away then sat in the chair where he had laid his coat. He reached into his pocket and withdrew another handkerchief.

  She watched in disbelief as he stroked himself once, twice, thrice. He closed his eyes, threw his head back and groaned.

  “David…David, I want to please you.” She took a ragged breath. “I’ll do anything you want.” She gasped another hitching breath. “Anything.”

  A grin of pure satisfaction split his face. It was so like seeing a stranger unveiled that she caught her breath. He released himself and stood. Then he returned to her.

  Instinctively, she sat up straighter and arched her back so that her breasts jutted out. The tips were hard, painfully so. Surely no man could resist her like this. Surely…

  She had never acted so seductively, hadn’t understood how to, but he brought this side of her out.

  He took his cock in hand and stroked the head against her cheek. A shudder of pure hunger wracked her. “Please, you’ll let me, won’t you?”

  He stroked it over her mouth, the smooth, silken flesh circling and circling. Fluid leaked onto her lips. She opened her mouth and displayed her tongue as invitingly as she could.

  He pulled back. “Why should I let you?”

  Her mouth dropped open further. She couldn’t believe a man was actually demanding that she beg to pleasure him. Not just beg, but beg and beg.

  “David…” Her voice was pure pleading.

  “Only good girls are rewarded.”

  Was he bloody jesting with her? What the devil did he want?

  “I don’t understand how to play this game, David.”

  He caressed her cheek and gazed at her with a tenderer look. “State the case for why you are a good girl.”

  “I wore the gown for you. I stayed for dinner.”

  “Yes, but that’s not enough.”

  “I danced for you.”

  “Yes, you did, that’s true. And you danced very well.”

  “Isn’t that enough?” This time she couldn’t keep the desperation from her voice. Inside, she cringed. Her throat burned. For a single, mortifying moment, she feared that she would burst into tears from the frustration.

  “But will you keep yourself only for me?” He was stroking himself, lightly, slowly, catching his breath each time his hand brushed over the underside of his cock’s head. The sensual spectacle fascinated her. She couldn’t look away. “Will you agree to wait upon and serve my pleasure?”

  She’d never known jealousy like she did of his hand, which was such an absurd thought it should have made her laugh. She didn’t feel like laughing. Instead, she found herself nodding, avidly. “Yes, yes, I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Forever?”

  “For as long as you wish.”

  He nodded. “That is what I wanted to hear.”

  “Really?”

  He released his cock and put his hand out. “Come here, sweeting.”

  She lunged to put her chin onto his palm. He pressed his hips forward until his cock bobbed near her mouth then teased her lips. Leaking fluid all over her. She moaned.

  “Open, darling.”

  She opened her mouth and he slid his cock on her tongue. At the touch of all that velvety steel, she closed her eyes and trembled and sealed her lips about his tubular girth. He throbbed against her tongue.

  God, he tasted sweet.

  She’d never tasted anything so sweet. Wild thrills raced all over her body in time with her thudding heartbeat. With ruthless hunger, she swallowed him down until he nested deep in her throat. She moaned in what could only be called a convulsive rhythm.

  His hands gripped her head. “Christ…that’s so good, darling.”

  He began fucking her mouth, her throat. Her heart thudded so hard now, she feared it would explode, that she would expire. She didn’t care. Exhilaration rose in her. Her cunt clenched in desperation. She pressed her legs tightly together.

  “Jeanne…Jeannie.” His voice was hoarse. He kneaded her head. His cock quaked within her mouth. He gave a harsh shout. His seed poured in furious jets into her throat. She swallowed and swallowed and swallowed.

  Deep, joy like glittering gold and silver swept through her.

  God, he was her everything. Just everything. She would do anything for him. Wanted to give him all of herself.

  He withdrew.

  She gasped and gasped, drawing in air.

  He leaned forward. His panting, expulsive breaths blew over her shoulder and back as he tugged on her bounds. Her wrists came apart.

  He took her right hand and pulled it down her belly and to her cunt. “Touch yourself.”

  Aroused as she was, she needed no encouragement. She began rubbing her nub.

  He crouched in front of her. “Spread your legs, farther apart.”

  She spread her thighs as wide as she could, all the while, looking him in the eye. She loved his eyes upon her, loved that he could see every part of her. She had never been so wanton. She loved that she was able to be so wanton. So open. So free. Only with David. Only for David. Her fingers moved upon her flesh in a frantic pace, she couldn’t stop that even if she wanted.

  “Oh, oh!” A stab of warning pleasure jolted deep in her cunt.

  He moved closer and slid two fingers into her dripping channel.

  She gripped them, hard, with her inner walls then began thrusting her pelvis, fucking herself on his digits. “David, David…Oh God! Dav—”

  The spasms overtook her. Convulsed her. Pleasure detonated within her.

  * * * *

  Jeanne opened her eyes with a start. The chamber was bathed in the very faint light of coals. She’d been exhausted after their carnal play and, limp as a rag doll, she’d clung to David as he carried her here, to this grand four-poster bed with its velvet hangings and fine, almost silken, linen sheets. She had never lain in such a soft featherbed.

  He had held her and told her over and over how lovely he found her to be and what a good girl she was.

  Yes, he’d been quite serious, what a good girl she was.

  And in those moments, she had soaked up every word he had said as though it were the most profound poetry.

  Now he breathed deeply, evenly.

  Relief spread through her like pleasure. He was sleeping soundly.

  She could leave now and not have to face the repercussions of having submitted to him so fully. Her gaze caressed his face
. She would miss him even more dreadfully after this time than before. But he made her feel things she didn’t want to risk.

  She arose slowly and carefully, then crept downstairs and gathered up her clothes. Once dressed, she slipped out into the early dawn. It wasn’t long until she found a hackney with an ambitious young driver looking for his first customer of the day.

  Chapter Nine

  Jeanne lay on her bed, eyes closed. She wasn’t going to look.

  Her eyes briefly opened as she glanced at the folded parchment lying on the pillow next to her. The heavy embossed seal.

  No, she wouldn’t read it.

  She tossed on her other side, away from the unwelcome letter. She’d been restive for two whole weeks, sleeping little, eating little. It was really quite frustrating for she’d expected to feel the greatest relief and peace once she’d made the decision to put David’s generous offer from her mind.

  Worse, for the first time in years, she noticed the oldness of her garret. The moldering odor that no amount of vinegar scrubs or lavender sachets could erase. Yes, of course she’d known her living space was shabby. But she’d become accustomed to it. Now it bothered her. Another disruption to her peace.

  She supposed that once she found another publisher she would be able to afford new furniture and fresh whitewash. But she’d have to sell a lot of copies for that. Thus far, she had submitted a sample of her work to several publishers. No word yet.

  She’d been writing furiously since their last night together, but none of it was suitable for publication. Her mind spun stories so salaciously erotic that she burned them as soon as they flowed from her pen to the paper. Yet she was driven to write them.

  A hard lump seemed to protrude through her worn, flattened featherbed. Oh God, she couldn’t get comfortable enough to sleep. If she didn’t sleep regularly, she couldn’t write. At least, she couldn’t write anything worth reading.

  Now it was early morning and she’d not slept. With a sigh, she rolled back to her other side.

  The letter lay there.

  What did he have to say?

  Apprehension twisted through her. Her heart rate increased a degree. His handsome features played over in her mind. Did she imagine him more handsome now than he really was? Probably. She tended to do make everything into something more than it was in her daydreams.

  David…

  The textured feel of the parchment fascinated her as she traced her fingertips over it, all fibers and smoothness. She traced the edges of the seal and the embossed H. The wax peeled back. Well, after much picking at it.

  The letter sprang open. A bold, black yet precise script slanted across the parchment. Her heart leapt into her throat.

  My Darling Girl

  She sucked in her breath, and with a fierce wave of her hand, brushed the letter off the pillow. Her heart beat a little harder as she watched the unfolded parchment float to the floor. Some bills of money floated down as well.

  His darling girl.

  She released her breath. He wasn’t angry. Or if he had been, he’d recovered from it.

  What else did he say? Just because she wanted to read it meant nothing. She never had to respond. She’d just as likely toss it into the dying fire as keep it.

  She was simply curious. After all, one didn’t receive a missive from a duke every day.

  She scrambled to the side of the bed and hung her head off the edge. Blood flowed into her brain as she reached for the discarded letter. Lying back on her pillow, she whipped it open.

  My Darling Girl,

  It is very late at night and I have had a little too much to drink. It is not an irregular occurrence of late. I don’t sleep but instead I lie here, night after night, wondering—did you run because you were disgusted by what we did? Or were you frightened by yourself?

  Being with you was the most ecstatic, pure experience I have ever known. Your absence has left me with an insatiable hunger. If you don’t come back to me, I shall visit some of those other women whom I know.

  An image of David’s tall, powerful body covering some faceless woman, moving upon her, filling her with his erection, caused Jeanne’s chest to seize up. Barely able to draw a breath, she continued reading:

  However, if I do this, after what we shared, I feel I shall be killing something within myself. Something I never realized was there. I shall become corrupted in a way I have never been in danger of becoming before. You alone have the power to save me.

  D.

  She scanned over his directions in the postscript. He wished her to visit him at his chambers. This morning. The money was for a proper carriage ride. She wasn’t to walk or use a substandard hackney. Her throat burned. The paper drifted from her hand to the mattress. David needed her.

  * * * *

  Jeanne followed David’s directions to his chambers at the Inns of Court. Now she held her head up, trying to give the impression that she wasn’t a bit out place in this male bastion. She stared at his door, hesitating to knock.

  “Are you here to see Hartley?”

  Jeanne turned.

  A gentleman of medium height stood there. He was handsome in a classical, elegant way with bright auburn hair. Faint traces of fading bruises ringed his eye. He offered her a smile of blinding charm. She disliked him on sight, thought she couldn’t say exactly why.

  “Good day, my name is Lord Toovey.” He waited with an expectant expression.

  “Should I know you?”

  He laughed softly. “You mean Hartley didn’t mention me?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  He eyed her intently, his gaze dropping to focus on her bodice. It made her feel unclean. “Miss Darling, of much recent fame, I presume?”

  She folded her arms over her bosom.

  “I must say, you are very different than I expected from the descriptions and where you were living—Pardon me, I must be going. Good day.”

  He hurried off down the opposite end of the corridor. She glanced in the direction he had been looking. It was empty.

  Several moments passed, and then she heard the sound of boots on the floor and masculine voices echoing as a group of men approached.

  David was dressed in a medium blue cutaway jacket, a pale gray waistcoat, and dark gray pantaloons. He walked and spoke attentively with an older-looking man.

  He looked directly at her but his expression remained impersonal.

  Her smile froze on her lips as he took his leave of the group then came toward her.

  “Good day, Miss Darling.” He placed his hand on the doorknob. “Have you been waiting long?”

  His calm, precise tone resonated with authority. His face could have been sculpted from marble, a high broad forehead, formidable cheekbones, strong, square jaw. Cool, penetrating eyes. He held himself with such rigid, erect posture. Heavens, he was a stranger to her.

  This was the real David. No, not David, but Charles George Henry David Somerville, the eleventh Duke of Hartley. An aristocrat. A statesman. It was so odd. She had seen him delirious with fever, lost, confused, lusty, angry. So many intimate and vulnerable positions. But she had never fully seen this side of him. The public side. It was as though she were meeting him backwards.

  She was a little intimidated by him. All right, she was exceedingly intimidated by him. It was hard, so hard to believe this was the same man who had written to her and spoken so ardently of his need. Part of her wanted to turn and run back down the corridor, all the way back home to her safe garret.

  But the words from his letter kept replaying in her mind.

  He needed her.

  Not just for the comfort of her body but in an emotional way.

  She needed someone to need her like that? No, of course not. This was just her carnal desire and silly, soft heart getting the better of her. Her weakness.

  He opened the door and then touched her arm lightly, escorting her into his chambers the way a man would do with any woman he was friendly with. Several desks flanked the antechamb
er. They were all empty except the first, which was occupied by a young man who looked up as they approached. He stood. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

  “Mr. Whitting, you may leave.”

  Mr. Whitting’s eyes widened. He flicked his gaze to the clock on his desk and then back to David. He looked a little scandalized. “Your Grace?”

  “You may leave for the day, Mr. Whitting.” David’s polite tone was quite firm.

  The young man donned a blank expression. Then he began gathering his things.

  David urged her toward the door at the rear of the chamber. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. “So, you read my letter?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Her voice crackled and she swallowed to clear it. She lowered her tone to a whisper, “I was afraid…of myself.”

  The pupils of his eyes grew wider, giving him a dark look. The keys rattled. She glanced down. His hand was shaking ever so slightly as he inserted the key into the lock. Her tummy quaked with an answering anticipation.

  When the door was open, he took her arm and drew her inside.

  He shut the door behind them and then he twirled her. A whoosh of air. A flash of light in the corner of her sight. He pushed her backwards and her arse made contact with the closed door. He pressed his weight against her, slamming her bottom against the door. Taking her breath. Thrilling her right down to her toes.

  With his hands fierce upon the curve of her waist, he brought his mouth down on hers and he kissed her with a fierce hunger that sucked her breath away. His tongue slid over hers like wet, hot velvet. Her blood hummed and sang. It was a wild, glorious ride and she hung on until she was choking for air. She pressed against his chest.

  He lifted his head and stared at her with lips slightly parted, his eyes glazed with desire.

  “So, you’re not unhappy to see me?” She attempted to tease him, the words coming out between pants for air.

  He cupped her face with both his hands. “You are so very lovely. It seems like months since I have touched you like this.”