Her Mystery Duke

by Blackthorne, Natasha

  No one had ever been there for her before. Not her father. Not the men who took her to bed for coin.

  No one had made it safe for her to be open. She wanted that from him, security and constancy that would make her feel safe to be connected. Yes, he could understand that. But he couldn’t tolerate the kind of manipulation that Thérèse had once consumed his life with. To be fair, today’s little drama hadn’t been so terrible, but where would it end? He couldn’t have that sort of ongoing distraction, disrupting his daily routine and ability to focus.

  There was a further, deeper realization. It just wasn’t possible for him to have a mistress, or at least not with the type of woman who aroused his deepest passions.

  Something seized in the center of his chest. Pure sadness. He didn’t know what was going to finally transpire between himself and his golden girl but this was very ominous.

  “The matter of your punishment must wait,” he said. He was too upset with her, too unsure of his feelings—to think clearly. Playing games with her was one thing. But to spank her when he was actively upset wasn’t something he wanted to do.

  She paled. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  “It’s late now. I have a supper engagement and I cannot cancel.”

  She pierced him with her forthright gaze. “No, I mean you are leaving me. Forever.”

  His heart rate increased and a slight sickness crept into his guts. She had perceived what he still wanted to deny. “Jeanne, you push too hard at people. I have said nothing about leaving you forever.”

  She just kept staring at him with those penetrating eyes and he knew she saw more than he wished for her to see.

  “I shall survive. No matter your decision. You needn’t worry over me,” she said.

  * * * *

  Several hours later, David stood in the parlor of Jeanne’s house, taking a moment to have a brandy and collect his thoughts. Jarring echoes of the supper party rang in his mind. This who liked him and admired his work had tried too hard to be cheerful and avoid mentioning the lost vote. Those who were opposed to him and his work had made underhanded, jabbing remarks.

  Automatically, he’d made retorts fueled by facts and delivered them with wit. Yet all the while, Jeanne’s stricken eyes had kept flashing into his mind. Damn it all. It had been his prerogative to leave. That was part of their arrangement. He needn’t feel remorse over it. Yet, he did. Somehow he had begun to feel responsible, not only for Jeanne’s financial security but also for her emotional well-being. That was exactly what he had wanted to avoid.

  He hadn’t fully committed to giving of himself to Thérèse. And the truth had to be admitted once and for all: He may have felt a passion for her but it had been the most destructive forced he’d known in his life. She had been too intense, too sensitive, too self destructive for him to tolerate on a daily basis. He had limited the time he gave her. And that had driven her away into the arms of other men.

  He was being unfair and shortsighted. Jeanne wasn’t like Thérèse. The older woman didn’t like to face unpleasant truths, the least of which included truths about herself.

  Jeanne had been honest about her motivation and he knew that had not been easy for her.

  And they were different with each other, he and Jeanne. The games they played went further than the carnal. The feelings of submission lingered for Jeanne long after the act was done. And she craved those feelings for they appeared to give her a type of emotional sustenance.

  He had to admit that he also enjoyed her lingering submissive moods. She was so soft at those times. Open. Present and completely his in the moment. As though he were the only thing that mattered in the world.

  Was it normal to find satisfaction in that? But if it brought them mutual joy, did it even matter if it were considered normal by others?

  He adored their happy moments. He did not want to lose her.

  There was no partway in matters of love.

  He put his glass down. He knew what he must do.

  * * * *

  Dressed in a long, warm, flannel nightgown, Jeanne hugged the bedchamber doorway. Light from the lamp in the corridor made flicking motions on her face. She didn’t smile. She didn’t speak.

  He knew why. It was because she didn’t know how to respond or speak without revealing herself. She was guarding herself. He realized how much he didn’t want her to be guarded with him. He now understood what it would take to make her feel safe with him at all times. He wanted her soft and open to him.

  He reached out his hands. “Come here, Jeanne.”

  She let go the doorframe and walked sedately towards him.

  He took her hand. “I am sorry I left earlier.”

  “I understood.”

  “Don’t cover your feelings. Not with me. I frightened you when I left earlier.”

  “Yes, perhaps you did.”

  He caressed her knuckles with his thumbs. “I should not have done so. I should never leave without some resolution when we have difficulties.”

  “I should be stronger. I shouldn’t need—”

  He released one of her hands and put two fingers over her mouth. He felt a strong need to talk with her, to clear the air. But she needed something from him first and it was time he put her emotional needs before his own. “There’s the matter of your punishment.”

  Her hand tensed within his and her eyes widened. “Cast your eyes down when I am chastising you.”

  She looked down and bit her lip. That immediate obedience sent a wave of satisfaction through him that was more than carnal. He took her hand and led her to the bedchamber. With no reason to delay, he sat upon the first item of furniture he came to, the chest at the foot of her bed.

  “Jeanne.” He motioned to his lap.

  She laid across his knees. Docile. Waiting for her well deserved punishment. He acknowledged the desire to give her that punishment. It went deeper than physical. He wanted her to behave in a certain way and this was how to achieve it. This was how they would interact. This was right. She wanted to give him a deeper submission. An emotional submission. He wanted the same thing. But he would have to invest the time and attention that she needed.

  He pulled her nightdress up. The sight of her broad, round arse nearly made him groan but he suppressed it and ran a caressing hand over her flesh instead. A slight tremor racked her. The power he had over her, the power she gave him, was intoxicating. His cock surged into a full erection. “This is for willfully ignoring a previous agreement between us that you would save your Wednesday for me. And it is also for being evasive with me about having done so after the fact. It will be more than you’re accustomed to.”

  “Will it?”

  “The offense warrants it.” He took her hand into his left one. “You can bear it.”

  * * * *

  Jeanne lay barely daring to breathe. Her heart beat wildly with a mass of conflicting emotions. The most perplexing one of all was relief that he would punish her tonight after all. She didn’t understand it but she had wanted this all along, since this morning. The exhilaration of disobeying him hadn’t been in the act of rebellion but rather the anticipation of punishment.

  Anticipation left her dry mouthed.

  It didn’t make sense.

  “I shall begin.”

  A definite thrill chased through her. His hand made contact with her bared buttock and the stinging pain followed. Oh, she hated a real spanking. Why had she wanted this? Instigated this? The second came and then the third. After several more, tears began to slide from her eyes. She bit her lip and swallowed, hard, trying to stop the tears but the blows were becoming more painful to her already stinging flesh. He continued. She dropped her face to his leg and let the sobs consume her.

  He caressed her back, her hair. “It’s over, all over now. You did just fine.”

  Fine? She was completely undone, sobbing. He had told her that she would cry. He had said she would cry when she trusted him fully.

  She cried in a way she ha
d never allowed herself to do before. She cried for Papa. She cried for her own pain and the overwhelming burdens she’d carried in the years of her adolescence. She cried for the unwilling loss of her innocence.

  She cried until she had drained herself dry.

  All the while, he stroked her back, her hair.

  Her tears ebbed slowly until she was sniffling weakly. He shifted, then handed her his handkerchief. The monogrammed H. It had been one of the first things she’d known about him. She wiped her eyes and then blew her nose as delicately as she could. Dear God, her arse was afire. It was as though she’d just noticed.

  “I want your apology, Jeanne.”

  “I am sorry, so very sorry.”

  “Go kneel on the bed.” He gave her bottom a light swat.

  A brief flare of fire in her already burning flesh made her gasp.

  “Go,” he repeated, more firmly this time. The resolute tone resounded deep in her belly. Without further thought, she scrambled to obey him. He grasped her hips and slid the head of his cock over her wet folds, again and again, working his way to slide it against her erect nub.

  She arched back, moaning. Begging him to fill her. Her hips began to jerk convulsively. She wanted him. Needed him. Now.

  He poised himself at her entrance and thrust inside. She clenched around him, squeezing him in grateful welcome. Never had it felt so divine to be filled. He pulled out and thrust back inside. Very quickly. One swift, slick slide. Her heart raced with the unbearable delight. His knob rammed up against the mouth of her womb.

  Delight radiated through her. She cried out.

  He grasped the back of her neck. “That’s the way. Take me, take all of me.”

  He pulled back all the way out. Then he thrust back in, hard, fast. Slamming against her very depths. She cried out with the joy of it. Again and again and again, he repeated the motion.

  He groaned, harshly. She adored the sound of his pleasure. The sensation of his body against her burning arse was delicious. But suddenly, she couldn’t travel the path of rising arousal with him. Her mind wouldn’t let her.

  He touched her nub. Teased her. Caressed her. But she still couldn’t.

  Afterwards, he held her. “What’s wrong, my darling?”

  “I don’t understand myself. I am a stranger with deviant motives.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I disobeyed you with the sole intent of earning a punishment. Only I didn’t know that was why until the punishment was a sure and certain thing. I was aroused by the idea yet I hated the pain.”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t so much the punishment as the idea of being dominated by me.”

  “Oh…” His words settled into her mind but she still didn’t understand. She frowned. “Most people wouldn’t consider what we do normal, would they?”

  “Some husbands punish their wives.”

  She’d known of husbands who chastened their unwilling wives for spending too much money on essentials, or because the baby cried too much, or just because life was hard and someone had to feel their wrath. That wasn’t exactly the comparison she wanted to hear. Uneasy because she didn’t know how to say what she wanted to say, she grinned slightly. “Yes, some husbands do punish their wives. However, they do it…differently. They don’t do it for pleasure, or achieving a certain mood, like we do.” She watched him very earnestly, seeking any sign of his hidden thoughts.

  “Some people do. “We’re not so alone in our proclivities.”

  “Really? But how did you ever know that you…”

  “Thérèse learned it from her previous lovers and she taught to me. I have taught it to you. In the years in between you and Thérèse, by trial and subtle testing of their reactions, I found other women who enjoyed varying degrees of it.”

  She sensed his holding back. “But?”

  “But only with you I have enjoyed the greatest degree of it.”

  That wasn’t especially reassuring. “So what we do would be considered by most as very strange? Perverse?”

  “I don’t know how to give an answer. It is something I have done but not spoken of in any depth with others. I know there are places where people go to engage in the same kinds of activities.”

  She held her breath a moment then dared to ask. “Have you been to one of those places?”

  “No.” He caressed her hair and drew her closer. “I could not—would never risk my reputation like that. I couldn’t risk the cost to my political career. It is perfectly acceptable for a gentleman to keep a mistress or to be seen frequenting a popular, genteel brothel. But one of those places, no. However, that doesn’t mean those places are necessarily perverse or sinful. I think it only matters that the participants are of age and give their full consent. No-one should be coerced. Don’t you think it is natural for me to dominate you? Doesn’t it feel natural?”

  Renewed heat spread through her lower belly, making it very easy to answer. “It does feel natural. The most natural thing in the world.”

  “You have allowed me to dominate you with pleasure.”

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t it natural if I also dominate you through pain, sometimes, if we both find pleasure through that domination?”

  Another surge of heat flared in her loins. But her mind was still unsure. “I don’t know.”

  “You wanted it today, the punishment, the domination through pain. What if I hadn’t punished you? How would that have felt?”

  She shook her head. “I just don’t know.”

  “You know—tell me. Admit it to yourself.”

  “I would have lost respect for you.” She sucked in a breath at that admission.

  “And?”

  “And I would have felt hurt. Unvalued…unloved.” She caught her breath. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense. You want me to dominate you. When I am distant and not providing that, you are driven to solicit that domination.”

  “I suppose that is exactly what happened—but I hate to think that I shall become like a child, behaving dreadfully to beg punishment.”

  “I don’t want that either. Jeanne, what if we change our agreement?”

  That made her pause. “You want to change it?”

  “I think it is best if we do. But you must agree. You must give your full and free consent.”

  Goodness, he sounded so serious. Vague discomfort fluttered around her navel. “Go on,” she said.

  “You want me to take a firm hand with you.”

  Instant warmth dispelled all her uneasiness. It still didn’t make sense, not completely. However, a small smile spread over her lips and she found herself curling more snuggly into his large frame.

  “Do you?”

  Emotion pressed in her throat, rendering her unable to answer, so she nodded.

  “I want to make you a real mistress. I shall take you to the theatre, to the opera, and to concerts, and you shall dress the part for me.”

  “I suppose if I must.”

  “You must. But I think you shall come to enjoy it. You’ll have to adapt your schedule to mine for I intend to spend most nights here with you. But I usually cannot get away from my engagements until one or two in the morning. You shall have to accustom yourself to sleeping until noon as the other mistresses do, for I do not want you skipping sleep on my account. How do you feel about those changes?”

  “Yes, I could adapt.”

  “If I cannot visit on any night, I will send you word as soon as I know and you will not complain. It is still my prerogative to visit or not visit as the demands of my work require.”

  This was exactly what she had most feared, having someone else take control over her life, and yet each word he spoke put a curl of warmth around her heart. There was something deeply satisfying about turning her life, her service, over to him.

  Being needed by him for more than just Saturday and Wednesday.

  “There are other things, Jeanne. New rules for you.”

  “Ye
s, new rules. You are not to run in the street like a heedless hoyden. You must take Mary or Mrs. Wilson with you when you go out. You have to start acting like a lady if you’re going to be mine. It made you feel insecure when you weren’t getting the dominance you desired from me. You misbehaved to earn my attentions.”

  Yes, that had been exactly what had happened. She nodded.

  “For a short time, when I come to visit, I am going to give you a real spanking, just to assert that it is my right to do so. And you’ll allow it just to show your acceptance of my domination.”

  “How long will this occur?”

  “We’ll know when it is no longer needed. You don’t completely understand yet. It is something that can’t simply be understood without experiencing it. But it will create a bond of deep trust between us. No one has to know. It will be our secret alone.”

  This should have been the point where she told him he was insane and arose from the bed. It was at least deserving of a sea change. Yet, her heart beat harder and pleasurable heated chills raced through her. Yes, that was what she wanted, to be subject to his authority. There was a warm, expanding sensation in the pit of her belly, as though the hard ball of defiance that had rested there had melted away. It was a curious type of feeling. Like being utterly safe.

  And “sea change” didn’t seem such a silly phrase any longer.

  None of this seemed silly now.

  “All right, David, I am willing to try it.” Unbelievably, she was looking forward to his firm hand. It was more arousing than anything she’d ever known.

  For now she would simply follow her desire.

  Trust in her desire.

  Trust in him.

  He rolled her onto her back. “Stay like this.”

  He left the bed and went to the dresser and opened the drawer. He returned with a small coil of pale, cream-colored rope. He took one of her arms, turned it and stroked the underside with the rope.

  The soft tickle on her sensitive flesh startled her. She had expected a rough texture. “What is it?”

  “It is rope made from silk.”

  “Oh.” Her heart began to beat harder. He had always used scarves or stockings before. Somehow the rope made things more intense. She couldn’t say exactly why. Perhaps because it was an item purchased intentionally to tie her up. It was premeditated.