The Duchess's Diary

by Allison Lane

  John would feel the same. He’d lost a family tonight, too. The father he’d admired. The mother he’d revered. His life would never be the same. He’d gained a family as well, but he wasn’t ready to consider that, and she had to admit they were far from lovable. His new responsibilities would weigh heavily until he accepted them. Old dreams would weigh heavier. He would never sit at the Office of Works now.

  But before he could face the consequences of his birth, he must forgive Francine’s lies. Portland would not let him lick his wounds for long. Chester would act even faster. Thus she couldn’t leave him alone. He had to adjust now.

  John would hate breaking down in front of her, though, so distracting him was her best course. And what better distraction than lovemaking?

  She ignored the question of whose interests passion would serve. It was the only course she could think of. Only three days ago John’s touch had pushed her own terror and pain aside. Now she must return the favor.

  “Don’t think about it,” she murmured, sliding his coat off and untying his cravat.

  “I can’t help it.” His voice cracked. “Why—”

  “Hush,” she ordered. “Tomorrow is soon enough for talk. For now, concentrate on my hands. I’m going to touch every inch of you.” She tugged off his shirt.

  “Faith.”

  “Relax.” She pushed him gently onto his back, then stretched his arms above his head. “Don’t move, John. Just enjoy.” She started with his hands, tracing muscles, exploring textures, licking and kissing as she worked along his arms, across his shoulders, around his face. Lowering her mouth to his, she sampled long and deep until he trembled. Pleased, and more than a little breathless, she moved on.

  By the time she reached his abdomen, he’d arched into her touch, his hands gripping the bedpost so hard it was a wonder it didn’t snap. But she kept her pace slow, savoring, teasing, toying with his desire – and her own.

  “Faith!” He groaned as she inched his pantaloons down his hips.

  She deliberately avoided his jutting manhood, though the sight made her belly clench. It was thick and hard, with moisture dripping from its tip. But she wasn’t ready to finish.

  Exploring John was the most erotic experience of her life. Every touch raised awareness of her own need. Beneath her corset, her breasts throbbed, demanding to be free, to press against his fingers and tongue. Heat seared her womb until the mere sight of him urged her to take him deep, riding to the completion they both needed.

  But not yet.

  Yesterday had taught her that anticipation made the final release stronger, so she concentrated on his flesh, amazed at the range of textures one body offered. Warm here, cool there. Rough, smooth, pulsing with power. His heart hammered against her palm. His panting speeded her breathing until she was dizzy with excitement. And his moans…

  Surrendering to temptation, she brushed his shaft, curling her hand around its thickness. He jerked, rubbing hard against her palm as a growl rumbled deep in his chest. But when she felt his control slip, she pulled back to resume her exploration.

  “Now!”

  “Not yet,” she panted.

  “I need you.”

  “Soon. Very soon. But first, feel my hands.”

  His shape pleased. Wide shoulders. Hard chest. His belly quivered at the slightest touch. Her hands glided, pale against dusky patches of hair, rosy against the silvery web of an ancient scar. Emotion welled like wine to cloud her senses.

  “Let me touch you,” he groaned, writhing.

  “Not yet.” She hadn’t pushed him high enough, had yet to remove all of his clothes.

  John could hardly string two words together as Faith’s hands roamed over his body. Her scent engulfed him until his groin ached and blood roared through his head. And when she brushed moisture from the tip of his manhood, he nearly exploded. Only determination kept him still. As long as she was enjoying herself…

  But he needed her, desperately.

  He hadn’t expected such bold advances, but it boded well for the future – if he lived that long. His heart would surely batter free in another minute. He felt its pounding clear to his toes.

  She cupped his testicles, kneading lightly as if rolling them through her fingers. Without realizing it, he grabbed for her.

  “Not yet,” she repeated firmly.

  “Can’t – wait.” But he returned his grip to the post.

  “Soon. I need to catch up first.”

  He shook his head, not understanding, for she was clearly as ready as he. Her eyes blurred with passion. Her skin flushed with desire. Her moans and sighs whispered across his skin, driving his own need higher.

  But again she surprised him as she stepped away from the bed to let her gown slither sensuously to the floor. His breath froze as her petticoat followed. Never had he watched a lady disrobe – and certainly not one who did so solely for his titillation. Her corset fastened in the front, offering enticing glimpses of flesh as it inched open.

  “I’ve heard that men enjoy looking,” she purred, lifting her breasts in offering. Stiff nipples pressed against the thin chemise, making him ache to draw them into his mouth.

  “Men very much enjoy looking.” He barely forced the words past his dry throat. Her breasts seemed different cupped in her hands, and different yet as she slowly drew the chemise aside, leaving her clad only in stockings. Reddish curls marked the apex of her thighs, the sight driving reason away.

  “Now, Faith. Right now.”

  When she extended her hand, he dragged her against him. The room spun in dizzy circles as he ravished her mouth, drinking in the taste he craved more than life, tongues tangling wildly as they rolled across the bed. Each new encounter revealed sides of pleasure he’d not known existed. She fit him perfectly, body, mind, and spirit.

  But as he shifted to plunge inside, she rolled above him. “I’ve not had my fill of you.” Her hands danced over his flesh until he feared the heat would set the bed aflame. Her mouth followed, licking and nipping until he shook with need. And when she reached his manhood…

  “My turn,” he croaked. Merely looking at her swollen breasts drove him higher. And she, too, dripped with need. But he had to touch. Had to make her as crazy as he.

  So instead of ending it, he kissed her from head to toe, drawing her fingers into his mouth even as his own worked within her, sending her into a screaming climax that nearly finished him.

  “Again,” he gasped, sliding his tongue inside.

  “John! My God!” She bucked against his mouth, tearing at his hair. Nails clawed his back, drawing blood, but he wouldn’t stop, couldn’t allow her even a moment to catch her breath.

  Up she went again, higher and stronger, until she shattered a second time. Yet as he twisted to plunge, she found the energy to slither away.

  “You’ve asked for it now,” Faith gasped, pushing him onto his back as she fought to clear her sight. The Tableau mentioned what he’d done to her – and offered reciprocal suggestions. Smiling, she licked his shaft from one end to the other, then drew it deep into her mouth.

  His body spasmed, nearly bucking her off.

  Since he’d claimed men could climax but once, she drew back, stroking lightly while she gauged his reaction.

  John moaned.

  “You like that?”

  “Too much. I won’t last a minute.”

  “You think not? A big, strong man like you can surely control himself longer than a minute.”

  His hands fisted in the sheet as her tongue swirled around him.

  John couldn’t believe what was happening. But with her challenge ringing in his ears, he held on, his body arched upward as she worked him. Five minutes. Ten.

  His control snapped.

  Flipping her over, he thrust wildly inside, beyond thought, beyond reason. The sheer glory of filling her burst through his head like the sun. She met his wildness with her own, locking her legs around his hips, her moans wrapping him in a siren song, more and more frenzied, u
ntil the world exploded, leaving only blackness and the most profound peace he’d ever known.

  * * * *

  “Am I alive?” he muttered groggily sometime later.

  “I think so.” Faith stretched against him. They’d landed against the post at the foot of the bed. “Now I know why mothers guard their daughters so assiduously. Lovemaking is too pleasurable to abjure for long.”

  “With the right partner. This sort of bliss is rare.”

  Faith wished he hadn’t reminded her. Satisfying future protectors would be more difficult now that she knew the pleasure John could produce. If only—

  But she couldn’t. Second-guessing her decision could only lead to trouble. Society would crucify him if they learned about her, especially now. A duke needed an impeccable wife who could provide an unimpeachable heir. That was doubly true for a duke in his position. He badly needed society’s respect.

  A blaze of jealousy seared her soul at the image of him sharing this bed with another.

  She shook it off. If God was merciful, she would never know who that woman was. And she would be gone in any event. Must be gone. Tonight. Society would be watching him by tomorrow.

  “We must wed,” said John, snapping her out of her thoughts.

  “This is no time to consider marriage,” she said briskly. “First you must establish your identity and learn your new responsibilities. Only then can you consider marriage. You will need a wife worthy of your position.”

  He pinned her to the bed, glaring. “You have it backwards, Faith. I cannot face so much upheaval alone. I need you with me.”

  “The future is less fearsome than you think.” She tried to sound positive.

  “You can’t know that. But whatever the truth, I won’t face it without you. I’d flee to America first.”

  “You’d let Chester win?”

  “Alex’s evidence will prevent him from claiming the title, and the trustees will bar him from the estate. If you want me to do more than that, you must help me. I won’t go through this pain alone.”

  His plea shattered her shield, wrapping itself around her heart. Staying even a day or two would make her departure worse, but how could she refuse? She loved him.

  “I’ll do what I can,” she finally said. For now, she added silently. Unless he took his place as Westfield, the duchess’s sacrifices would be in vain. If achieving that meant staying where she could press him when he balked, she would do it.

  He relaxed at her vow, apparently thinking she’d accepted his offer. Before she could correct him, he pulled the covers over them and fell asleep.

  Faith wasn’t so lucky. Staying even briefly increased the danger of scandal. He must hire a chaperon immediately if his reputation was to survive. And she dared not leave the house in his company. Connecting them in the public eye would cast doubts on his judgment. It wasn’t the perfect solution, but it was the best she could come up with for now.

  By the time he was accepted as Westfield, he would understand that marriage was impossible. If she wasn’t good enough for an architect, she could never aspire to a duke. Convincing the aristocracy that he was legitimate would be hard enough without her dragging him down. They would despise her.

  While she’d stressed the difference between talent and breeding while trying to soothe him, in truth breeding was paramount to the upper classes – which would work in John’s favor once he established his parentage. She wasn’t so lucky. Her breeding would never pass muster even without the deformity of her limp. Her relatives had made that clear. Not only did her mother hail from the lowest levels of the gentry, Faith couldn’t even prove she was legitimate. Her parents’ marriage lines had disappeared along with those missing trunks. No other record existed, for they’d married over the anvil. Living as a family in India didn’t count. She’d known several officers who openly lived with mistresses and their bastards. Few in India condemned them. But England was not so tolerant.

  Then there was the heir problem…

  So all she could do was prop up John’s courage until he accepted his fate, then disappear from his life. Her own future looked grim – for once she was brutally honest with herself – but she would survive.

  John was in his study when Alex returned the next morning. Thanks to Faith, he’d slept peacefully and awakened with a clear head. He might curse fate, but she was right. Destiny did not consider personal preference. Nor did English law. He must not only accept his noble birth, but the duty that went with it.

  But it hurt. Badly.

  Almost as badly as Faith’s latest refusal. He wasn’t naïve enough to think last night’s agreement covered more than a few days. She meant to leave once his situation settled. That weighed even heavier than the prospect of spending the rest of his life as a man he despised.

  The one benefit of her latest refusal was proof that she was not judging him on breeding. If she’d accepted the duke’s offer after refusing the architect’s, something inside him would have died. But this meant he’d misconstrued her reasons. Did she secretly despise him? Had she joined him last night because she felt sorry for him?

  He shuddered.

  Yet he couldn’t believe it. No one who harbored disdain could have responded so freely.

  Somehow he had to convince her that he loved her and that honor had nothing to do with his offer. Or very little.

  Was she carrying his child? The chances were better now—

  Alex’s arrival thankfully distracted his thoughts. Faith remained in the dining room, but he did not summon her. He would conduct this meeting alone.

  It was a terrifying prospect, and one Alex wouldn’t understand. Alex considered any title a prize. His own was an even bigger prize since he’d earned it for meritorious service. He would never see that the only prize John wanted was that seat at the Office of Works, which was now utterly impossible.

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” Alex said, taking a seat.

  “Enough, Alex,” snapped John. “I won’t use a title that is not yet mine. That is Chester’s way.”

  Alex shook his head, but took a seat.

  “Speaking of Chester, have you reported the results of your investigation?” asked John.

  “No, and I don’t plan to, at least not to Chester. Even if the duchess’s diary had not raised questions about his character, I was hired by the trustees. Once I prove the fate of the duke beyond all doubt – which won’t be until the College of Arms and the Committee of Privilege at the House of Lords accept the evidence – I will send them a report. They will likely contact you sooner, though. There is no way to prevent rumors.”

  “They are out of town.”

  “All three?” Alex raised his brows.

  “They are verifying my claim that Chester cheated the estate of several thousand guineas.”

  “That should keep Chester occupied. They will have informed him of their visit – might even have taken him with them.”

  John hoped not. Chester might intimidate the staff into destroying the other records. He would certainly blame any shortfalls on Faith. Another reason to keep her close.

  “We’ll deal with Chester and the trustees later. I requested a meeting with the College herald and a representative from the Committee of Privilege.”

  “Is that usual?”

  “Nothing about this situation is usual, but there is no point in going through this twice. The College will determine whether you are a legitimate member of the Willowby family and thus entitled to bear the Willowby arms. The Committee decides whether you are heir to the Westfield title and thus entitled to a seat in Lords. Once they rule in your favor, the Lord Chancellor will issue a writ of summons to take your seat in Parliament. Publishing that writ in the Gazette will constitute the public proclamation of your status. Be prepared. The moment you are gazetted, you will be inundated with callers and invitations.”

  “Are you sure there is no other way?”

  “None.” Alex rose. “Titles follow blood with no regard for ability o
r interest. There is nothing anyone can do about it. Short of coercing Parliament and the Regent into abolishing the title entirely – which I can guarantee they won’t consider unless you prove you’re a traitor, in which case you will lose your head – you are the duke. Accept it and move on.”

  “So I must abandon everything I’ve worked for and assume a position I know nothing about.”

  “I didn’t say that. Whether you are John Lascar or Montrose Willowby has nothing to do with how you live your life. No one can stop you from designing buildings if that is what you want. Few will deign to comment on it, for a duke wields great power. Anyone wishing to benefit from that power will avoid criticizing you. Even lowly barons can stifle criticism. A few harridans frown on me because poking into other people’s secrets is ungentlemanly if not outright dishonorable. That stain is worse because I opened my business after winning the title. But society still welcomes me.”

  John frowned. “I thought gentlemen were roundly condemned for dabbling in trade.”

  “True, and if you decided to open a tailor’s shop on St. James’s Street, most would avoid you. But the line between gentlemanly pursuits and trade is blurry, and growing more so every year. The world is changing, John. For centuries, lords lived on the proceeds of their land. Crops and rents have always been accepted as proper sources of income. When Lords Grosvenor and Berkeley planted houses on their estates, then leased them to fellow aristocrats, no one said a word. That was little different from collecting rents from tenants. From there, leasing land for factories and mills was only a small stretch. Another small step tied the amount of the rent to the factory’s income. But having a stake in that income gave the landowner a voice in decisions that affected it. In my book, that means he is involved in trade.”

  “That seems reasonable.”

  “I can name a dozen peers with just such arrangements. I see little difference between a lord who influences how the businesses in his estate village operate and one who owns ships, taking a percentage of the profit from each voyage. But I also believe that makes him a partner in the business itself.”