Her Mystery Duke

by Blackthorne, Natasha

  He took the tasseled end and brushed it against her breasts. The feathery softness teased over her flesh. Over her stiffening nipples. She arched her back and moaned. He took her arms, one by one, and pulled them over her head. The rope wrapped around her wrists, a silken slide, caressing her. He made several tugs. And then he inserted a finger between the rope and her skin as he adjusted the rope. The feeling of being handled, manipulated, fussed over, made her limbs go weak. Heavy. She didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to think. She just wanted to lie there forever and let him do as he willed.

  Then he pulled back and let his gaze sweep over her. There was no mistaking the satisfaction in his gaze. “Pull, hard.”

  She pulled. Her arms moved slightly against the bounds. Electrical sparks raced through her whole body. The delectable sense of being helpless and totally at his mercy.

  White flashed in the corner of her vision. He held a strip of white silk. “I am going to place this over your eyes.”

  A flash of intensified desire infused her. Crackled along her skin. This was something new. He had never covered her eyes before. She nodded. He dropped the cloth over her eyes then lifted her head and tied it at the back.

  Everything was dark.

  His fingertips touched her like gentle rain. Too light. Her nipples began to ache for more. She writhed and moaned.

  Wet warmth flicked at her nipple. It instantly tightened into an almost painful peak. She cried out and tugged at her bounds. He licked and sucked and nipped at those pebbled points. Rubbed his cheek against them, the faint stubble rasping against the inflamed nub. Ecstasy washed over her.

  He bit her a little harder. Twisted and pinched. Warm, melting honey pooled deep in her belly. Her womb felt as though it were quivering. He put his hand on her mons and plunged two fingers into her and began pressing into her forward wall.

  God, that was exactly it. Exactly what she needed. Her insides began to give way, melting, melting. Sweetness engulfed her. A pure feeling of perfect love.

  He brushed his thumb over her nub then rubbed it, on the side through the protective hood. She writhed and twisted against her bounds and pressed the soles of her feet into the mattress.

  He slid down her body, kissing her naval on the way down to her pelvis. He bent and put his mouth over her erect nub. Spasms overtook her, deep, intense, wild shocks of pleasure so powerful, she arched into his mouth and screamed.

  Sweat cooled on her body as she caught her breath. He was lying beside her again, smoothing the hair off her face. He spoke, “Earlier, you wouldn’t allow yourself to come because you wanted to retain some control over a situation where you felt uneasy. But you can see how much more pleasurable it is to let go and give me control over your body, over your pleasure.

  “No matter what you do, no matter if you feel you deserve it or not, ultimately, it is my decision if and when you will come. Your pleasure is mine to give or withhold. This is something you have to learn more completely. And then you will understand all of this more fully.”

  He lifted her head and removed the blindfold.

  She blinked, trying to become accustomed again to the lamplight. “The withholding or gifting of pleasure, this is a game other people play?”

  “Yes, they do. However, Jeanne, it really doesn’t matter what other people do or don’t do. We shall do what pleases us and what feels right for both of us. There are no guidebooks on this sort of thing. We shall have to find our own way.” He studied her a moment with those beautiful emerald eyes. “You enjoy this, the binding? The giving over of control to me?”

  At his words, she couldn’t help twisting again, testing the bounds. “You know I do.”

  “Yes, but we must always communicate and be fully open about such matters. That’s the most important thing. We must have trust, utter trust in each other and our honesty.”

  “Yes, I agree.”

  He reached up and began loosening the rope on her wrists. Her arms came free and he took them and massaged them. He bent. He kissed each of her wrists, on the inside. A gentle, feather soft touch. “Every time I bind you in a literal way, we are bound closer together.”

  His words put a burst of warmth into her chest. He spoke the truth.

  He drew the coverlet up from where it was folded at the foot of the bed. The he lay back upon the pillows and took her hand and pressed it to his hard muscled chest. “Since you will be my official mistress, I think we should have more openness and honesty between us about all matters—not just what occurs in our bed.”

  She curled into him and nodded. She was safe here. She wanted to stay here forever.

  “There’s something I haven’t told you because before now, it really did not concern you.”

  “I understand.”

  “I still provide for Thérèse.”

  His words slammed into her like a shock of icy water. Her neck muscles went rigid. Oh, she did not want to speak of that woman. Not now. But he did.

  He must have felt her tension. He began to caress her neck. “She hasn’t been my lover since before Trafalgar.”

  Her neck relaxed. “Why would you support such a faithless mistress, so long after your liaison ended?”

  “She’s ill. She is dying, earlier than the doctors thought. The illness has strained some pre-existing defect in her heart. She cannot trust her family. Her husband is dead. She has no one.”

  “Why can’t she trust her family?”

  “Because they are bitter over what she did years ago. She gave up everything to be mine. I feel a responsibility and yes, guilt, over that. Frankly, she is quite close to death. How close, the doctors cannot say. But her life is full of pain and suffering.” He touched her cheek. “Can you understand my sense of obligation to her? I need you to understand why I could cosset her despite the things she did.”

  “I shall try to understand.” What else could she possibly say? She wasn’t inclined to be fond of Thérèse. She tended to view the woman as some evil villainess.

  “Well, that’s all I can ask.”

  Jeanne pressed a bit closer into David’s shoulder. As though she could hold her position with him more securely. Uneasiness prickled all over her body. They spoke about the future. Their future. But would the past ultimately tear them apart? Just how strong of a hold did Thérèse retain upon David?

  Chapter Eleven

  Jeanne rested her head against the seatback. They were on their way home. She’d long grown weary of the constant bouncing of the carriage, though David had assured her it was quite well sprung. He had been reading a political pamphlet but now the pamphlet was in his lap, his chin was lowered, and his eyes were closed.

  A May shower drummed on the roof. They’d been traveling for hours, stopping only to change horses. Having lived the entirety of her life in London, she’d always wanted to take a long journey but the reality of a short journey had her wondering at the wisdom of that. To be fair, the journey away from London had been far more interesting, full of new sights, and she’d scarcely noticed the discomfort. Now it was nighttime and there was nothing to see.

  She closed her eyes and let her mind drift over the two last months. David did visit her at least four or five out of seven nights a week, depending on his schedule. And yes, he had actually spanked her arse, every day, for a whole week.

  And the effect of that? She could only remember that week as a feverish haze of pure carnality.

  He’d been right. She craved the sensation of being vulnerable to him and letting go. She craved surrender.

  Her demeanor towards him had changed in that time and now when he arrived, she felt every part of herself attune to him. At the sound of his voice or the touch of his hand, she knew an instant sense of letting go. Giving control over to him. Her little worries and fears slid away. She focused on him and what he wanted from her. Even thinking about it all now made her cunt slick and she felt that sense of warmth and relaxation in her belly.

  He changed her. Their interaction had changed her.
It was easy now to be soft, submissive with him. Punishment spankings were not very often now. It was the knowing that he could and would master her that mattered. But they shared many playful, erotic spankings.

  He had also begun to truly treat her as a mistress. Her closets were filled with all manner of gorgeous clothes. Her jewel case—yes, Jeanne Darling actually had a jewel case—was filled with a small but costly and carefully selected collection of necklaces and earbobs.

  He’d had her portrait painted. He carried a miniature of the more modest portrait in his pocket.

  He took her to the theatre, to concerts and the gardens. For drives in the park on some afternoons.

  Now she wouldn’t dream of dressing in any manner that would give him cause for shame when she was with him. Yet her time seemed constantly taken up with fittings and more fittings. The dressmaker came to visit her and yet it still seemed to take so much time.

  She never spoke to him in snappish or disrespectful tones and wouldn’t dream of keeping him waiting, if she could possibly help it. His time was too valuable. She understood his position better. No, maybe she simply trusted him more now.

  Yes, it was the trusting that made the distinction. The change in her.

  For the first time since she’d been a very small girl, she felt a type of security. Not the financial security she had thought having her writing published would give her. No, this was an emotional type of security that she felt right down to her bones. She had feared this.

  Now she didn’t know if she could ever give it up.

  Yet she was acutely aware of their differences. Not just in wealth or social station but also in intellectual capacity. She was just scribbler, a daydreaming girl.

  He could speak five languages, if one counted Latin and Greek. And he seemed to know everything about everything. History in particular was his forte. He was socially facile and everlastingly polite, seeming to know the correct thing to say in any circumstance.

  Recently, he had taken her for two days in the country at the house of one of his friends, Lord Sable.

  In the parlor, she had sat where he wanted her. On the floor, leaning against his legs. That position hadn’t been as improper as it might sound. There were no wives in attendance, and almost every peer had brought a mistress. The women had sat in their lord’s lap or on the floor as Jeanne had. It was all quite relaxed. She had never imagined seeing so many wealthy, titled gentlemen in such compromising positions.

  She listened to their political talk, noticing how David spoke in deliberate, soft tones with an undercurrent of authority and assurance. Steel beneath a surface veneer of silken smooth persuasion.

  This was the politician. The master orator.

  Once again, even after all this time, she wasn’t certain if she shouldn’t be a bit intimidated. He was leagues above her. Any woman who witnessed his combination of polite charm and power would want him for a protector. A lover.

  All the other women present were what a man would call a diamond of the first water. They were all elegant and fashionably attired. Tall, willowy, with tiny waists and perfect apple-sized breasts.

  Jeanne was too quiet, until she wasn’t. And then she was too direct. She was awkward, short, and far too plump. Her breasts were more like melons.

  She did not fit with these people. She was not an elegant courtesan.

  The evening grew long. The political debate became half-hearted and then died completely. Jeanne could feel the tension reverberating off David’s body. He’d been upset by something someone had said. He took issues seriously. Maybe too seriously. He began to drink too much. Others were doing the same. The lamplight dimmed. Low giggles and deep whispers sounded.

  David’s hand slipped from her shoulder and he laid it lightly over her breast.

  She startled. Her nipple hardened. His fingers softly pinched her and little shocks of pleasure stabbed her. Warmth pooled into her pelvis and her cunt contracted. A little dismayed, she glanced up.

  Two of the other men’s mistresses were watching.

  They were glaring at her. Fierce daggers that could surely kill.

  Such formidable anger set her heart thudding and made her mouth dry. But she wouldn’t look away. Her muscles went rigid. Instinctively, defensively, she lifted her chin and balled her fists against her velvet skirts.

  “Let’s retire.” David’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  Once upstairs, they sat in opposite wingchairs. Still shaken by the open hostility directed at her, she drank deeply of her champagne.

  When the glass came up empty, she sighed. Her nerves were still on edge. Her hackles wouldn’t lower themselves.

  With the bottle in his hand, he easily leaned across the distance. Heavens, the man was so tall. He filled her glass. “Drink.”

  She downed it quickly. The bubbles rushed too quickly down her throat and she coughed. Then she looked up at him and laughed.

  “Again.” He smiled, slightly. “I want you at least half as drunk as I am.”

  He offered the bottle and she held her glass out but drank more slowly this time.

  Pleasant giddiness settled over her.

  “Come here.” He motioned towards himself.

  A bit wobbly, she stood then walked to him.

  “Turn.”

  He loosened the laces on her gown. She turned back to him, looking him in the eyes, his gorgeous green eyes, whilst she removed her clothing.

  “Stop,” he said, when she stood in her stocking and garters. He motioned to the bed. “On your back.”

  She complied.

  “Put your legs over the edge and spread them wide for me.”

  She opened her legs. He sat there, fully clothed, watching her. She caressed her breasts and writhed.

  “Show me yourself.”

  Knowing exactly what he meant, she let her hand slide down her belly and over the curls on her mons. She spread her nether lips. Her fingers strayed and rubbed along the sides of her nub.

  He exhaled. It might have been more of a groan. She couldn’t tell. Her heartbeat was drumming loudly in her ears.

  He stood and approached the bed then knelt between her legs. He took her right limb, lifted it and rubbed his cheek against it. The faint stubble on his cheek rasped the tender flesh. He put his open mouth on her inner thigh and sucked and licked. Sparks flashed straight from that spot to her cunt. He raised his head, such a serious expression on his face as he studied the mark he had made. He licked it with a renewed zeal, as though the flesh were all the sweeter for his having marked it.

  He’d left her hands untied, allowing her the novelty of twining her hands into his hair as he kissed and licked his way to her apex.

  And then he applied that brilliant orator’s tongue in a far, far more basic manner. For a moment, she imagined he was doing this whilst they were still downstairs. What would it be like to make love before an audience? God knew he could give a lecture and demonstration in the very skill he was now exercising.

  Slowly, he drew the sensations out, until she was begging him, trying to squeeze his head with her thighs to urge him.

  He held her legs ruthlessly apart.

  She dug her fingers into his silken black hair, threw back her head and arched her hips.

  He took her nub into his mouth and sucked.

  Her cunt contracted, spasmodically.

  She screamed his name. Over and over and over.

  He crawled onto the bed and lay beside her. Almost instantly, his breathing became deep and he softly snored. His brandy-scented breath wafted over her as she closed her eyes and let the pleasant drowsiness take her.

  Late the next morning, while David continued to sleep, Jeanne went alone to the breakfast room. Apparently, others had slept just as long, for they were still lingering over their kidneys and bacon and a host of other foods that seemed far too heavy. She put a hand over her queasy stomach and attempted some honeyed tea. The warm liquid did make her feel a good deal better.

  More than
a couple of mistresses stared at her with open, envious hostility.

  More than a few of the peers stared at her with speculation. And some with lust. Their gazes burned into her.

  Well, it wasn’t unexpected, was it? Especially at an event attended by several men named George and Charles. A few named Henry. And only one David.

  Suppose someone had been in the corridor at just the right moment? Suppose they had gossiped?

  At the realization, she’d set her teacup down, excused herself, and fled back to their chamber.

  David had been awake and ready for her. On her knees, she took his erection into her mouth. Deep into her throat. And he had been demanding. Taking her to the very limit of her ability to keep up, to give. Though his climax had been solitary, it had been one of the headiest, most fulfilling experiences she’d ever known. Her heart had hammered against her chest wall so hard, she feared it might explode.

  She adored being his. And after he led her back to bed and they lay together, he had gone back to sleep. She studied the faint lines around his eyes and mouth and thought of yet another great difference between them.

  He was eighteen years older than she.

  Even if he never tired of her, he would not always be in her life. She would likely outlive him by many years.

  Silent tears had fallen down her cheeks.

  * * * *

  The carriage came to a stop, startling her out of her thoughts. Another change of horses.

  She was so impatient to be home. She had so many things to think deeply on. Over the past days, she’d had an outside view into what others thought of her. They would compare her to those other kept creatures. So hungry for more privilege, power and luxury. They were always performing, always preening, always looking to better their situation.

  Was Jeanne fooling herself? Perhaps Dr. Edmonton’s prediction was coming true after all. In the past weeks, she had not written anything worth publishing. She couldn’t help it. She’d lost all passion for the stories that once enthralled her and driven her to write.