“Are you glad to be here, Jane?” he whispered as he drew his lips along the curve of her jaw.
“Very.” She sighed. His mouth brushed her throat, as if seeking to learn its every line, while his strong, capable hands caressed her waist and the curve of her belly through the layers of silk and muslin that clad her. For all he was a compactly formed man, he enfolded her completely in his embrace in a way her late husband never had. She liked that. She was no petite miss and had no wish to be treated as if she might break. Her mother had more than once despaired over Jane’s curves, which were of the sort much more suited to pannier skirts and cinched waists than this time of high-waisted gowns and minimal foundation garments. But her dream lover appreciated the whole of her body. As he claimed her mouth again, he took her derriere in both hands.
“Such a beautiful ass,” he murmured as he squeezed and kneaded, clearly relishing the softness of her flesh. He pressed her even closer to him, until her breasts rubbed his chest and her belly circled the ridge of his erection. Jane groaned with pleasure and tilted her hips against him. He smiled and took her hand, kissing the palm.
“Do you feel that?” He laid her hand against the outline of his cock, drawing her palm up and down its length. “This is yours. This is what you do to me.”
“I want you,” she whispered hoarsely. “I want to give myself to you.”
“Do you?” He smiled mischievously and leaned in to graze her lower lip with his teeth. “How would you give yourself to me?” He released her hand, turning her as he spoke, until he stood behind her, one strong arm wrapped around her waist to pin her against his hips. His cock was so hard and so strong that she could feel it pressing between the halves of her ass, despite the layers of her skirts and petticoats. His other hand closed possessively over her breast, making her gasp. “What would you do when you give yourself to me?”
She meant to answer, but he began to plump and pet her breast, and Jane found she could do nothing but groan. His fingers found her pebbled nipple and rolled it. It felt delicious and wicked, and all she could think was how much better these caresses would be without the barrier of their clothing between them.
“Tell me what you would do, Jane.” His breath was hot against her ear, his body a wall behind her. She had no strength. He supported her entirely.
“I would lay myself bare for you. I would open my thighs ...”
“These thighs?” Without ceasing to play with her breast, he ran his other hand down her hip, his fingers knotting into the fabric of her skirt. “These luscious, smooth thighs?” He drew her skirt up as he lovingly spoke each word. Cold air touched the heated skin of her legs, sending fresh shivers rippling through her.
“Yes,” she said. “The whole of my body would be yours.”
“Would you touch yourself for me?” Now his hand traveled up the soft skin of her thigh, caressing her, slowly, possessively, almost reaching her straining center, but not quite. “Would you let me see how beautiful you are when you play with your breasts and this sweet pussy?” He cupped his hot palm over her damp curls and she sighed with relief and pleasure. “Would you do that for me?”
“Whatever you would want.”
“And if I should want to play games of desire?” His mouth was on her shoulder now, kissing soft, sensual trails down her bared skin. “If I should wish to hold you helpless to our pleasure while I worked my will upon you?” Skilled and infinitely wicked, his fingers played with her folds, sending flashes of desire through her body.
“Yes, anything.”
“Anything, as long as I do not stop,” He laughed, but he did not stop. He stroked her and cupped her. His knowing fingers found her damp slit and pressed into it, and she writhed with delight. He caressed and massaged her breasts roughly even while his arms made sure she remained tight against the length of his body so the halves of her ass rubbed hard against his cock.
“Yes, please.” She did not think on what she said. She only thought of his hand on her breast and his fingers in her slit, for he had found the hot and swollen center of her pleasure and was rubbing it in earnest now.
“Such a sensitive little clit. So eager to be pleased,” he crooned, and the fire in her roared higher. Jane felt her whole self begin to slip away into the glorious current of pleasure.
“That’s it, Jane. Come for me. I want you to come for me.”
“I want you!”
“You shall have me soon, but you must obey your lover, and come for me now.”
He thrust his fingers deeply into her, pressing hard, stroking fast until the sensation of that decadent friction became too much to contain. Pleasure broke from her in long, simmering pulses, rocking her buttocks against his cock and wringing wordless cries from her.
“That’s it, Jane. That is so very good.” His breath hitched in his throat as he cradled her body made limp by the force of her satisfied desire. “Every moment brings you closer to me, my beautiful Jane. Soon I will hold you in truth, and then you will have all that you desire.”
And he was gone.
Jane woke with a start, the aftermath of pleasure still coursing through her veins. But the essential vitality had vanished along with the dream, and now she felt deflated. Jane lay curled in a truckle bed with a lumpy straw mattress at the feet of her new and profoundly pregnant mistress: Her Royal Highness Princess Victorie of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld, now Duchess of Kent and wife of Prince Edward, Duke of Kent and Strathern. The sounds of the sea rippled through the open window along with the salt breeze. Slow hooves thudded on the dirt lane, and a bird twittered tentatively. Calais was beginning to wake.
Sweet Jane was as far gone as her dream lover, and she was only Lady Jane DeWitte once more. Biting her lip against a groan of fatigue and disappointment, Jane curled her knees tighter to her chest. How much longer could these sweet, torturous dreams continue? Each night of the journey across the Germanies and France, her nameless lover had called to her in her sleep. Each night his urgent voice had led her to a scene of sensuous luxury. There, his words and intoxicating caresses sent her hurtling over the crest of pleasure. But each time when she woke, she was only restless and bereft.
Because despite all she had been given, Jane wanted more. During the daytime as the carriages bumped over the country roads, she had found plenty of time to imagine what that “more” might involve. She had yet to see her dream lover naked, had yet to bare herself fully to him. They had not performed the marital act. Widowed as she was, Jane was familiar with the feeling of a man inside her. But Lord Octavius had never touched her as her dream lover did. She had never before been aware there existed such a dizzying height where she could ride delicious waves of feeling. Surely, having her dream lover inside her would be similarly intense. That idea regularly robbed her of her breath, until she had to reach for her violet water to calm herself.
Women dreamed of men. Jane knew that. As a girl on the threshold of marriage, she’d often dreamed of being held and being touched. But to have such dreams occupy so much of her waking thought now that she was full grown and much more experienced was ridiculous. No, it was insupportable, and possibly a sign she had somehow become unbalanced.
But even that did not frighten her as much as the possibility that this new plaguing restlessness of her body might drive her to risk her reputation and position by entering into a liaison with a man.
Tomorrow the ducal party would all board the royal yacht and return to London for the birth of the child her mistress carried. That child might very well one day wear the crown of England. To have secured a place in the household of the royal family was no small feat for a woman who had been left without family or money. To have such a place in the household of the heir presumptive was nothing short of miraculous. Jane could not do anything to jeopardize her standing.
The dreams will eventually end. Jane knotted her fists in the inn’s stiff bedsheet. I will simply have to bear it until they do. Jane squeezed her eyes shut, shuddering against the sense of loss th
at accompanied the thought.
Mad. The word whispered itself in her mind. I am going mad.
Two
“Jane! My dear Jane!”
A familiar, and very welcome voice cut through the glitter and elegance of Lady Darnley’s ball. Jane turned to see Georgiana Martins—who had lately become Lady Hibbert-Jones—make her way through the crush of London’s finest, all invited to welcome the Duke of Kent home.
“Georgiana! How good to see you!” Jane stretched out her hand, deeply relieved. The ducal party had only arrived in London that afternoon. Her maid, Tilly, had not even finished unpacking the trunks, and yet the duchess had insisted Jane be here.
“You are to pay particular attention to what the ladies say,” the duchess had told her earnestly. “I know the prince regent would rather we had stayed in Saxe-Coburg. It is vital to know if the lords of England think the same. Their ladies can tell us that.”
So, here Jane was, turned out in her finest ice blue satin with its gold netting and scallops. She smiled and made small talk, and was ready to fall asleep on her feet. She reached out to Georgiana as she would to a lifeline.
“You’re looking very well,” said Jane to her friend as they clasped hands. Georgiana’s second marriage evidently agreed with her. Her brown eyes sparkled with good humor and she carried herself with pride and energy. Her gray gown, trimmed with freshwater pearls and ivory rosettes, set off her black hair very well.
“But you, my dear, look positively exhausted.” Georgiana tucked her arm in Jane’s and steered her closer to the wall and the blessed breeze allowed by the open French doors. “Tell me, was the journey very tedious?”
“The weather was awful.” Jane flapped her fan and peered over its edge to locate the Duke of Kent. Plain-faced, portly, flushed with wine and exertion, he stood with a group of exquisitely tailored men who all laughed heartily at some bon mot. He appeared to be in a better humor than he had been upon their arrival at Kensington House. As soon as they’d walked in, he’d pronounced the place “dim and pokey, begahd!” This despite its silk-clad walls, painted ceilings and many beautiful windows.
“The duke insisted on driving the duchess the entire distance to Calais himself, in an open landau of all things,” Jane murmured to Georgie. “It was ... most difficult.”
“And how does our new duchess?”
Jane thought on her mistress, sitting in her wingback chair behind the great curve of her belly. Much younger than her husband, the new duchess of Kent was plump and sturdy rather than pretty. The journey of over four hundred miles in the seventh month of her pregnancy had worn on her, but had not damped her spirits in the least. She’d had a ready answer for the duke as he barged about the parlor, complaining of Lord Darnley holding a welcome ball the very night of their arrival.
“Lord Darnley could not have foreseen the delay in our crossing,” the duchess reminded him firmly in her idiosyncratic mixture of German and French. “Otherwise I’m sure he would have moved the date. But his lordship has done so much for us, we must not neglect what he does in our honor.”
“If I tell you anything of the duchess, Georgiana, I am relying on you to spread the word,” said Jane seriously. “It is the only subject anyone wishes to converse on, and I am worn out repeating myself.”
“Jane!” Georgie hid her mock astonishment behind her ostrich plume fan. “What sort of gossipmonger do you take me for?”
“One of the best I know.”
Georgiana stared at her for a moment of genuine astonishment and then laughed heartily. Jane joined in. It felt so good to relax with a friend after spending so many months abroad and alone, not to mention spending so many nights teased and plagued by her wicked dreams.
Don’t think on those right now. Her mind had been wandering too much as it was. If she should start dwelling on imagined pleasures, she would quickly become useless.
“Of course I’ll tell everyone whatever you like,” Georgiana was saying. “They’ll all be asking me anyway.”
“And I need to hear all the news.”
Georgiana eyed Jane shrewdly. “You do, or your patrons do?”
“Georgie ...”
“All right, all right, I won’t press. But I will tell you, Jane, it’s going to be hard going. The regent wants nothing to do with either of them. Any of them.”
“Yes, we’d heard.” In fact, the prince regent had refused to advance a single penny to help his brother return to England. The duke, who was perpetually in debt, had been obliged to turn to friends to raise the needed cash—Lord Darnley among them. Jane opened and closed her fan restlessly, eyeing the glittering crowd. It was impossible not to notice how many gentlemen and ladies stood talking confidently to each other as their eyes sought out the various members of the ducal party; His Highness, his private secretary Captain Conroy, herself.
“But the prince regent ... can be persuaded, can’t he? He has proved willing to change his mind on other matters.” This in particular was a point the duchess asked her to sound out. The Prince of Wales could be as changeable as the spring weather, especially when he sensed the opportunity for love or money.
Georgiana paused as she considered her words. “All the little birds tell me the regent complains the Duke of Kent is claiming too much privilege too soon. After all, his child is not yet born, much less been declared heir apparent. He says he is insulted. I suspect much of this springs from his feelings after the death of the Princess Charlotte.”
The reminder of that tragedy silenced them both for a moment. Jane had met the princess a few times, and formed a good impression. Compared to her luxury-loving father, the lone child of the prince and princess of Wales had seemed remarkably sensible. But Princess Charlotte had been both married and buried two years since, and her stillborn son with her.
Jane fingered her fan for a moment. She did not want to ask her next question. Her interest was purely mercenary, and it shamed her. “At the risk of sounding terribly indelicate, what is the state of ...”
“Hymen’s War Triumphant?”
“Georgiana!”
“Tush, Jane! It’s only what the papers are all calling it. Truly, it is shocking.” Georgiana sighed, and her bright manner faded to expose the sharp and observant woman underneath. “Twelve princes and princesses, who among them have brought forth near fifty children, but not one both alive and legitimate.” She rolled her eyes heavenward looking for explanations. “The regent still hopes he might sire another legitimate child, but that will require a new, legitimate wife. My husband says Parliament is not in the mood to grant a divorce, no matter how many Italians our Princess Caroline is caught with. Of course, any potential Princess of Wales will have to be willing to overlook the fact that the regent is already married to Mrs. Fitzherbert and is carrying on with Lady ... Let me see, I think it’s Lady Jersey this week.” She tapped her fan against her palm. “So that’s the first in line. Second, the Duchess of York is past child bearing. This leaves the Duke of Clarence and his new duchess as the closest competition for your patrons.”
“Have you seen her yet?” Jane asked.
“I have. I don’t speak German so well as you, but she seems to me both healthy and pleasant. The greatest shock is that she and Clarence appear devoted to one another. I would be most surprised if there was not an announcement from that quarter shortly.”
Jane’s fingers closed a little too tightly around her fan. The Duke of Kent lived beyond his means. Everyone knew it. If Parliament could not be persuaded to extend him an additional income as father to England’s heir, accommodations might have to be made. The first of these would be the dismissal of some members of the household. At which point, Jane would find herself with nowhere to go.
“Perhaps that’s for the best,” murmured Jane, struggling for disinterest. “It cannot be a good thing for the future of the nation to rest on a single unborn child.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Georgiana’s face and voice both hardened. “Look at us. We sp
end our days talking of fripperies and scandal. In the meantime, there are riots in the streets and the king runs mad. His sons think of nothing but how to get their hands on the public purse strings, his daughters have been made into a flock of nuns, and none of us knows what is coming next. Is it a wonder we dance all night? If we stopped to think, we would drop dead of terror.”
Hearing the anger and the warning in her friend’s voice, Jane laid a hand on Georgiana’s arm. “I’m sorry, Georgie, I’m not good company right now and I’m spoiling your night.”
“You are the best of company, Jane.” Georgiana patted her hand. “You are only tired from your travels.” They smiled, each understanding the other saw past their politesse, but each silently agreeing it would be best to move back to conversation more proper for a ballroom.
Just then, movement caught Jane’s eye.
“Oh, no,” Georgiana muttered. “It is our dear Mrs. Fortesque.”
A woman with a square jaw and square brow overshadowed by a forest of dyed ostrich plumes strode straight toward them through the crowd. Claret crepe encased thin shoulders and an improbably full bosom.
“I’ll distract her, Jane. You make your escape.” Georgiana fixed on a brilliant smile and sailed directly into Mrs. Fortesque’s path. “Agnes! I was so hoping I’d find you here!”
Jane did not wait to hear what Mrs. Fortesque replied. She slid out the nearest French door and onto the balcony, and dodged sideways where she would not be immediately visible from either door nor window. The fresh night air that enfolded her was chill but exceedingly welcome. Jane closed her eyes and raised her chin, relishing the cool breeze as it swept across her skin, and tried not to wish herself elsewhere.
The dinner had been excellent. The music was very fine. The whole of fashionable London, dressed in their finest, swarmed a ballroom hung with French blue, said to be the prince regent’s current favorite color. This was diplomatic of Lady Darnley, Jane thought. In a pinch, either of the Darnleys could argue they had chosen the color to remind the royal duke where their ultimate loyalties lay.
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