CHAPTER ELEVEN
"You know, I'm here for you, if you ever have any... you know, issues you want to discuss, about the duke especially," Lilian said with a nervous blush. Isobel looked out across the grand foyer to Norbury Manor, exhaling deeply. She knew she shouldn't say anything - even if, perhaps, it had been glaringly obvious to everyone in the estate, what had been happening since last night. They hadn't slept in the same bedroom - Isobel had turned her back on the duke after their time in the study. She slept in a guest bedroom. They'd eaten dinner silently in the dining hall, at far ends of the table from one another. She had said only a scant few words; and he just watched her. Watched her, with that confident little grin on his face. She tried to ignore it - ignore everything he had said about her, and about what she really wanted. She still had family name to stand up for, and even if no gentlemen existed - at least she could be the lady society expected her to be.
"There's a... a lot to say, about the duke," Isobel chuckled anxiously. Lilian pretended to be busy, her brush dusting away at an end table sequestered in the corner, but Isobel's words captured the curious maidservant's attention. "But I... I'm terribly sorry, Lilian, I certainly shouldn't speak on the duke's predilections and private needs in the open like this," she sighed, thinking better of her impulse to speak to the maid.
"Oh, come now, you don't think you can tell me? I heard something rather racy as I passed by the study just yesterday afternoon, shortly after your arrival," Lilian smirked, dusting away at the small statues, odds and ends littering the table. Isobel immediately blushed and looked away. "You can trust me, Isobel. This manor could use more of a woman's touch, don't you think?" she grinned warmly.
"Lilian, I shouldn't," Isobel protested.
"Well, if you have a change of heart, Lady Duskwood, I'll be here to listen," Lilian sighed. "If he mistreats you, or takes advantage of you, Lady Duskwood - well, that's why I'm here. There aren't enough women in the manor for us to stand behind one another." Isobel looked away, taking a deep breath; she felt a pang of guilt. She thought to spill her thoughts to Lilian, again, but a loud rap on the front door startled her out of her introspection. Her eyes flashed towards the front of the foyer; another loud knock followed. Lilian hustled towards the door.
"Werner! Werner, where did you wander off to?" she called out, her dress swaying about her hips as she approached the front door. With the butler nowhere in sight, Lilian pulled the doors open on her own, expecting perhaps a traveler or someone from down in the Norbury freeholds. "Yes, can—oh!" Isobel heard the maidservant's cry of surprise and peeked out from the darkness, and when the voice of the man at the door met her ears she felt her entire body churn in throbbing disgust.
"Well, aren't you certainly such a pleasant sight to be greeted by?" Isobel swallowed hard, ducking beneath the shadows cast by the stairwell. She watched closely, with panic-stricken eyes, as the Duke of Thrushmore stood proudly in the doorway, that charming facade clear on his expression, dipping his head in a bow to Lilian and taking her hand into his for a kiss. Isobel felt both fear and anger struggling through her every vein; how could he dare put on a show like this after what he had done to her?
"Oh, I'm certainly flattered, thank you," Lilian responded with a blush and a curtsy, and to see someone deceived by the duke's lies boiled Isobel's blood. She had hoped never to see the toad of a man again, and so she stayed out of sight as best she could.
"So, perhaps I'm quite off-base, but I'm certain a brilliant and lovely young lady like yourself could help me," he flattered her with his croaking tone. "I'd heard tell of a certain Lady, a close friend of my estate's, Thrushmore, had come here to the Lord Brighton's estate, in order to settle matters of business. Perhaps you know of the Lady Isobel Duskwood? A lovely young woman, now officially the Duchess of Upton. Have you heard of the Lady Isobel?" Eugenius charmed the maid with his demeanor; she was all too eager to answer.
"Oh, Lady Duskwood? Certainly, I've met her, a lovely woman," Lilian giggled coyly.
"Ah, so you do know of her! Perhaps, then, you can confirm or deny—I'd heard a tale, that perhaps she had come here, of recent, to discuss a matter of outstanding business between the estate she had inherited, and Lord Brighton's estate. Have you seen or heard of anything like this recently?" Isobel's pulse beat in her neck; she held her breath, silently begging for Lilian not to be taken in by the duke. She didn't want to face him - now, or ever.
"Oh, did you mean—" oblivious young Lilian began to respond, before a voice boomed down the stairwell and into the foyer, interrupting her harshly.
"Lord Eugenius, Duke of Thrushmore, talk of the town and all that folly," the voice called out confidently; even arrogantly. Isobel breathed a sigh of relief and ducked behind the rail to watch as Lord Brighton descended, full of his normal sense of flippant bluster. Lilian stepped away from the door, bowed in deference as Ellery strutted confidently down the rug. Isobel couldn't see his face, but she knew the expression the Lord Brighton wore for the Duke of Thrushmore - that silently amused, dismissive smirk, no doubt.
"Lord Brighton," Eugenius acknowledged the young man with a nod of his head. "Always a pleasure to stop in and check to see how you're keeping this place together. Your father would be proud, of course," Lord Miller said, with a sort of pride that'd make you think he himself was Lord Brighton's father.
"Really? I've met my fair share of nobility here in northern England who'd pointedly disagree with you on that assertion, m'lord," Ellery said, words dripping with sarcastic dismissal. Isobel couldn't help but smile at seeing someone other than herself who saw Lord Miller for what he was, instead of the veneer of charm and refined taste that he projected to the world.
"I've been searching for the Lady Duskwood," the duke ignored Lord Brighton's stark sense of attitude, clearing his throat. "I couldn't find her at her estate, and the servants there mentioned that she had relocated temporarily to the region around Norbury. I had wondered if perhaps I could find her here, and your lovely maid—"
"Who, you mean Lilian? She gets mixed up sometimes," Lord Brighton laughed, full of facetious distaste for the duke. "She's really a lovely girl, just empty-headed, at times. No, Lady Duskwood is not here, and if any servants told you she was, they're quite mistaken," Lord Brighton insisted, moving closer to the doorway. The Duke of Thrushmore sighed, maintaining the facade, though it began to become clear that Lord Brighton's attitude had raised his ire.
"Are you certain? Perhaps she set out on a journey to your estate, but never arrived? Those Merry Bandits have been plundering carriages and caravans across northern England for some time. It's frightful to consider what they may have done to Lady Duskwood on the road," the duke shuddered.
"No, m'lord," Lord Brighton emphasized the title with thick, cutting sarcasm. "No sight of her! 'Tis a shame. Enjoy your time near the estate, won't you, m'lord? I hope you do, m'lord. Goodbye, m'lord," Lord Brighton announced, making more of a mockery of the duke and his title with each pronouncement, until punctuating his 'goodbye' with a slammed door in the Duke of Thrushmore's face. A laughing scoff rung through the foyer, and as the Lord Brighton turned around, Isobel could see he wore that exact, disdainful and amused expression that she had presumed. She smirked in the shadows, delighted to see someone stand up to that fake.
"You can come out now, love," his voice slipped out of his put-upon, playfully 'professional', tone, back in to the one Isobel felt more familiar with. She crept cautiously from the shadows behind the rail. "Lilian, love," the duke regarded his servant, "let's not be too free with information pertinent to the estate, hmm?"
"I apologize, m'lord, Werner generally handles the door, but he was nowhere to be found," she chuckled gently.
"I let Werner handle the door because he would have done precisely what I wanted him to if he saw the Duke of Thrushmore," Lord Brighton smirked.
"...What's that, m'lord?" Lilian asked, blinking.
"He would have started and ended the conversation the same way I
did - a door slammed in the old fop's face," Ellery laughed brashly. Sunlight finally met Isobel's face, her expression giving away how pleased she was to see the duke turned out like that.
"I apologize, m'lady," Lilian bowed her head.
"No need," Lady Duskwood nodded.
"She should be thanking me, not accepting apologies. I take it you're not too enamored with the duke, in spite of him being quite enamored with you, hmm, love?" Lord Brighton interjected.
"What gives you that idea?" Lady Duskwood retorted.
"Perhaps the coy smile on your lips right now betray a pleasure taken in my response," Ellery quipped back. Embarrassed, the lady blushed brightly, casting her gaze aside.
"I'm simply stricken with the thought of him upholding some charade of dignity or gentlemanliness after the last exchange I had with him," she responded, her lips curling into a scowl.
"Oh? Perhaps a story you'd like to tell?" Lord Brighton smirked.
"Not particularly, no, save that it became quite obvious to me that he acted quite differently at my father's funeral than the man hiding in his venomous heart," Lady Duskwood sneered. Lilian listened with concern, before Lord Brighton's dismissive palm coaxed her to scuttle back to work.
"So there is a story to tell, then," Lord Brighton tapped his chin in facetious intrigue. "Seeking me out for assistance, after our conflicts, had always puzzled me. I would have expected your father to seek out Eugenius instead. Perhaps the old man was on to something."
"Perhaps. I can definitively say I'm pleased I do not owe a fine sum to him," Isobel said.
"Oh? Is that perhaps an admission you're enjoying our arrangement, then?" Lord Brighton grinned deviously; Isobel's cheeks burned bright-red.
"No! No, I... I meant to say, he's simply an unpalatable... man, to me, and I'm sickened he would try to present himself the way he does, when he's quite an animal," she spat back.
"So you'd prefer to tell the tale of the Duke of Thrushmore's abuses, rather than admit you've enjoyed our arrangement? My heart, it hurts," Lord Brighton jested, and much to her chagrin, Isobel found herself laughing.
"Have some dignity, Lord Brighton," she chuckled.
"Dignity? Like our friend Eugenius? He's a liar, just as all of us have been for years," Ellery sighed. "Do you recall Shakespeare? 'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women, merely players,'" he quoted.
"Shakespeare? Perhaps you do have a hint of class in you after all," Isobel smirked in amusement.
"Shakespeare? Classy? He was an actor! A roguish roustabout and a filthy, lewd animal just as I am," Ellery declared proudly. "But we pretend he wasn't. Just as we pretend we ought to deny our desires. Chain ourselves, hold back who we truly are. And for what?" Ellery shakes his head.
"It's what's proper," Lady Duskwood insisted.
"Why do you feel the need to do what's proper - and not what's right? Not what makes you feel free? Why do you feel the need to feed in to the lie that lets a man like Eugenius flourish?" the duke asked.
Isobel stopped herself from responding. She thought on it for a moment - a long, painful moment. He was right. She looked away, vexed by the realization. By maintaining the idea of civility, she had played in to the duke's hands. By refusing to speak of her story, she had allowed him to keep up appearances. She had subjugated herself to that monster - and how many other women had he lied to? How long had he been doing this? How many other men and women lived constricted by the lies of one another? How many hurt from these lies?
"It's... a lot to think about," Isobel responded, not ready to make any drastic leaps. Society's lies must have meant something - else, why would so many uphold them, she asked herself.
"I think it's quite simply, m'lady. You let him lie to you, and he used that to get close, didn't he?" Lord Brighton moved closer, and suddenly she felt herself taken up in his arms again, her heart pounding; her face quivering, fragile and begging.
"Y... yes," she finally admitted. "He... he had convinced me, he could help. I even entertained the thought of extending my hand to him, should be agree to help me with the debts I owe to you. But he... he's no different from you," she sighed. "A creature obsessed with the flesh."
"Oh, there's a few very particular differences between us. One, I'm actually quite good at what I do in the bedroom, love," Lord Brighton smirked. She slapped his lapel, blushing brightly.
"Quiet," she muttered.
"Am I lying? You certainly seem willing, don't you?" he teased.
"...No," she said.
"You're feeding in to the lie again," he chastised her.
"Which lie this time?" she asked with a roll of her eyes.
"The lie that women are meant to be prim, and proper, and not enjoy sex, and the lie that all sex is meant to be boring," he whispered hotly into her ear. "That's a lie if I've ever heard one coming from your lips, Lady Duskwood."
"You don't know me," she said, voice warbling.
"I know your eyes," he missed not a beat in responding. The light gleamed in their gazes and after a moment of tense silence they both reacted - just the same way, the same thought on their minds. Lips locked, hearts pounding, they kissed right in that foyer, her hands shaking; his so strong and firm. She didn't know if he was right, or if he was simply a philandering rebel with no shame.
But she wanted him to be right.
CHAPTER TWELVE
She lay quivering on the bed, curtain drawn across a falling sun; a candle jumped about in the shadowed corner, its flame dancing across her body. She lay nude; her dress pulled from her body, luscious feminine flesh basking in the glow of the fire and the heat of his body looming over her. She could watch him, this time - he had given her permission to lay, and to watch - to watch his body writhe in pleasure, his muscles sizzle as he removed his jacket; as he undid one button after another, erotic and slow and utterly titillated by the sight of her shaking amid his sheets. She holds back a gasp, cupping her mouth when she sees his glistening abdomen exposed; sweat already dripping along his form; the summer heat bore down all around them, the windows pulsing with steam from the warmth of their bodies breathing; twitching, longing lustily for one another.
She didn't understand why she enjoyed being denied - especially, denied by a man like this. Perhaps she thought him a man of loose morality - and the feeling of one so virile denying her, when she could have a hand in marriage so easily... or perhaps she simply enjoyed the feeling of being commanded; of being told what to do, when to do it. But only from her master... only from the man whom she owed everything to. The man she thought she hated - the man she still wants to hate.
But when his hands rolled along the insides of her thighs and squeezed the soft and succulent, pouting flesh of her legs, until his fingertips dug deep and forced her to shake, none of that mattered; the shackled world outside the walls of Lord Brighton's bedroom melted away like sweet, creamy butter lain in the burning afternoon sun. His fingers teased against her blushing folds; she squirmed her legs together, denying him, but when his fingers dug deep into her thighs she felt that pain radiating through her neck - the pain of the brand he had left on her, his claim to her; he was the master, and she, his prey. The thought enticed her, and with a quaking moan just the thought of him parted her legs wide, her breath ragged and her eyes closed, imagining all the thousands of filthy dreams she didn't even know she had, all surfacing now; all the things she secretly wanted this irresistible, gorgeous lord to do to her.
She hesitated to speak; she didn't know if all of his bedroom rules had been suspended. She was allowed to look at him, after all - and every inch of him she saw she wanted to exclaim in hunger how much she longed for his body. His fingers moved swiftly to the leather and copper buckle of his belt, unclasping the garment; he slickly removed it from its loops and lashed it around Isobel's ankles, pulling the band tight, tight enough she could feel the leather chafing hard against her soft skin. He clasped it shut, leaving her legs bound; the sensation struck her oddly at first, but as hi
s fingers ran tantalizingly along her calves, across her hips, onto her inner thighs, she immediately surrendered her inhibitions, barely able to breathe at how amazing it felt to be clasped and teased this way.
"I hope you've enjoyed watching me," he smirked, leaning over her, his kisses leaving a hot and steamy trail across her stomach, following her every dip and curve with his devouring desire, his tongue rolling around her left nipple. It stiffened and her back arched out; it felt so intense, her mind burning at the feeling of his lips lavishing praise on her skin while his breaths teased the sensitive, cold pink dollops of flesh atop her breasts. She opened her mouth to speak, her eyes wide as she realized her bedroom transgression, swallowing her words and watching him with bated breath. Satisfied that his lovely debtor had begun to learn to whom her hot body belonged, Lord Brighton grinned devilishly, pushing some of his wild, sweat-tinged hair from his brow, finally giving her a nod.
"You can speak... for now, love," he whispered, sending a cool breath down her shivering skin as he crawled off the bed, standing once more expectant, tall and triumphant before his quaking quarry.
"L... Lord Brighton—"
"Ellery, I told you," he waggled a finger. "Remember the rules, love..."
"E... Ellery," she said hesitantly, swallowing hard; swallowing in nervous embarrassment, closing her eyes and looking away. "Please—"
"Please," he repeated with a sigh. "A good word to start with, my pet... but I'd open my eyes, if I laid in your position, darling. From the look in your eyes, I get a mite feeling you enjoy seeing my body," he exhaled deeply. "You'd better see what you can of it before I play my next game with you." Her eyes shot open in mild, lustful panic.
"M'lord, please, wh-what do you mean?" her voice shook. She glimpsed him in the candlelight, a faint glow of sun cresting along the chiseled surface of his abs, rippling along his handsome skin. He taunted her with silent promises, fingers slipping into the waistband of his slacks, playing with the button, telling her fiery body that he'd give her what she dreamed of, seeing all of him, so soon... instead, he only teased, pulling his fingers away, leaving her breathing hotly.
Regency Romance Omnibus 2018: Dominate Dukes & Tenacious Women Page 9
