Daring Fantasies of a Noble Lady

by Olivia Bennet

  However, there’s no one else I would rather be stuck to…

  Her husband collapsed onto the pillow next to her, and he kissed her shoulder, his large hand stroking her from collarbone to navel and back again. Alexandra shivered, smiling lovingly up at him.

  A wet trickle against her thigh caused her to sit up and survey the damage. She stared, bemused at the red that streaked her thighs, and the stain below them on the bed.

  “I suppose you know me to be honest now.” She said thoughtfully, wiping at the blood on her thighs.

  “What do you mean, Duchess?” Percy asked, rolling back towards her. “Stars above, you’re bleeding! Are you alright?” Percy grabbed her hand and stared down at the stains, horrified. “Did I hurt you, my love?”

  “No more than was necessary, I’m sure.” Alexandra laughed at her silly husband. Her husband.

  “No, I only mean to say–you have declared your belief in me, and I am grateful for it. But just in case there was a small part of you that might have wondered, well…–” Alexandra shrugged, still feeling content from their coupling. “You can rest knowing you did not wed a tarnished woman.”

  Percy’s hands were on her face suddenly, and he turned her to face him gently but urgently. “My love,” he whispered. Alexandra was shocked to see tears in his eyes. “You cannot think that of me. I would not care if you lay with hundreds of men before me–you could never be ruined. You are perfect, and you are whole, and you are Alexandra. I cherish you.” He bit his lip, more tears forming. “Did you–did you spend the entirety of our intimacy worrying if I would suspect you were not a virgin?”

  “No,” Alexandra assured him, stroking his smooth cheeks, marveling at the softness even in the tense moment. “No, darling, I enjoyed that immensely; more than I was warned I would.”

  “You’ll enjoy it more the next time,” he promised. “But swear to me you will never hold on to such fear, especially not fear about what I think of you. Tell me whatever is on your mind, and I will vow to always tell you of my own mind.” He said this earnestly, before pressing his lips passionately to hers.

  Alexandra nodded, and vowed, “I swear it.”

  He kissed her on the nose lightly. “Good. Now, let’s do something about this, shall we?” He got out of bed and wandered over to his washbasin fiddling with a pitcher. He came back with a dampened washcloth, examined Alexandra's bare body, her legs still wantonly spread out. She blushed furiously at his scrutiny, her hands drifting to hide the evidence of their coupling.

  Percy grasped her wrist when he sat on the edge of the bed. “I am your husband, and you are my wife. We share all things. Do not be ashamed of our leavings.”

  Alexandra nodded, face still burning, and stared at the ceiling while her husband attended to her aching loins. He wiped away the blood on her thighs, first, and then he turned his attention to her core.

  Eventually, the push and pull of the warm cloth felt pleasant, and then it felt very pleasant.

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later

  Alexandra woke one morning and realized that she was very late indeed. It had been a busy time, helping Percy make plans to rehabilitate his duchy all the while planning Magdalene’s nuptials to the illustrious Alexander Count de Lameth. Most of that time had been spent ascertaining that the count was indeed worthy of her sister so she might be forgiven for not having kept better track of her monthly megrims.

  It was the casting of her accounts that warned her. Or rather, caused Constance to point out that what with the lack of menses and now the vomiting, she was very likely with child.

  “Shall I procure some wheat and barley, ma’am?”

  Alexandra wrinkled her nose, “Whatever for?”

  “Why to pour your piss on to ascertain that you are indeed with child, Your Grace,” Constance said looking quite beside herself.

  Alexandra restrained herself from rolling her eyes, “Not just at the moment, Constance. Thank you for thinking of me though. I will be sure to have the midwife visit and see to it at a more opportune time. Now I must go and find my husband so you will excuse me.” She said as she walked out of the room.

  ‘Wheat and barley?’ she mouthed to herself as she walked to the study, “How very strange.”

  Percy looked up as she opened the door.

  “What is very strange?” he asked, looking up from his ledgers.

  “Oh, nothing. Constance seems to think wheat and barley is a good way to confirm a full belly.”

  Percy dropped his quill, his mouth open.

  “Are you…?”

  Alexandra perched casually against his desk, giving him a serene smile, “I think it’s very likely,” she said.

  Percy made a sound most unbecoming for a Duke, swooped down upon her, grasped her by the waist and lifted her into the air. She squealed in protest even as he swung her around but could not say much else because he covered her mouth with his, expressing his joy the best way he knew how.

  * * *

  Francis Goodwin, Duke of Summerhill, woke with a start. His dreams were full of fire, and always, there were faces, mouths open in soundless screams, eyes wide with pain and misery. They were not the faces he recognized as belonging to any particular person familiar to him, but somehow he knew they were members of his household.

  Every day since his castle had burned down, he had woken from these dreams, in a cold sweat and a feeling of dread in his belly.

  He blamed Greenwick for his troubles.

  If it weren’t for his interference, Francis would have what he wanted most in the world. Even now, after she had soundly rejected him for that charlatan, he could not forget her long dark hair, falling like a curtain to her waist; that one time long ago he had glimpsed her en dishabille, in the garden of her home, before propriety demanded that she tie it back in the tightest of buns or kept it well-coiffed. He remembered her dark depthless eyes, looking at him like she could see his soul.

  She had stolen his very essence that day and to reject him now was the cruelest joke fate had ever played him. He got up from his bed, limping to the stone basin filled with icy cold water, left over from the night before.

  The servants are getting sloppy.

  They knew that he could not dismiss them at the moment, for fear of attracting even worse villains should he do so. He had been ostracized from the ton for what he did, and he expected that the Quality thought he might travel abroad until things died down.

  But no. I am still here. I won’t let them drive me away. Not while Greenwick flaunts his transgressions against me like some peacock.

  He would rebuild his reputation, restore Summerhill Hall to its former glory and most importantly, he would make Greenwick pay.

  Once he’d completed his ablutions, and his valet had come in to help him dress, he turned his attention to the day’s engagements. He was still a member of the House, and his vote was sought after for a number of bills. The other Lords tended to invite him to eat at one of his clubs rather than in their homes. It was galling to be thought of as some brute who could not keep his hands off the ladies.

  That was certainly not the case. His tendresse for Alexandra was a quite singular thing and were it not the need for heirs, he doubted he would ever look for another bride.

  He prepared to leave the house after the most rudimentary of breakfasts, resolving--once again--to fire the cook, when he almost ran into someone on the street outside his house. She was clearly planning on coming up to ring his doorbell, and by her dress, he assumed she was some sort of serving girl who had lost her way to the service entrance.

  “Excuse me, Madam, but are you lost?”

  He looked back at her and did a double take. “Oh,” he said as if he was just now learning something he should have known all along.

  “I’m not lost,” she said, “I am here to see the Duke of Summerhill.”

  He lifted his eyebrow, “Oh really? And who might you be?”

  “I am Anne Meadowes of the House of Stewart
. I need your help.”

  Francis gasped in surprise, offering her his arm and leading her into the house, “Come in, you must be exhausted from your journey. Let me offer you a repast, and then we can resolve whatever dilemma you are facing,” he said.

  Eyes the color of emeralds regarded him with gratitude, “Thank you,” she said, “My mother told me I could count on you.”

  “And, indeed, you can, my dear. Come, sit down and take the weight off your feet. You have come a long way.”

  “Indeed, I have Your Grace.”

  Anne Meadowes of the House of Stewart was the daughter of Catherine Meadowes, seventh in the line of succession to the Scottish throne before they were deposed. They had escaped to North Carolina in the New Colonies after the uprising in ’46.

  For Anne to be here, in London, would mean that something dire must have happened. Catherine Meadowes had saved the life of Francis’ father while hers was in jeopardy, and so the Godwins owed the Stewarts a great debt. If he could repay it somehow by assisting Catherine’s daughter, he was obliged to do it. Indeed, he would be happy to.

  Francis regarded her, a bright burst of reds and golds and greens from her glorious auburn tresses to her pale skin, the vivid green of her eyes and the ruby red of her lips. She was not Alexandra. Oh, no, she was the very antithesis of her.

  And yet…

  Something about their spirits called to him all the same. Perhaps he would not be forever lonely after all. He would see what help he could give Anne Meadowes and maybe she could reciprocate.

  That he perhaps had the opportunity to rebuild his life did not take away from the fact that he had retained a private eye to look into Greenwick’s affairs. He knew the man had been in dun territory not so long ago, perhaps there had been some chicanery involved in repairing it.

  If some did not exist, well, it could be manufactured after all. All it took was a bit of knowledge and a whole lot of cunning–a skill of which he had in spades. He had heard that the Duke and his new Duchess had retired to the Greenwick country estate and may be expecting their first child.

  The news was a knife in the wound that Greenwick left him and stoked the fire of his hatred even higher. What right had he, a mere upstart, to the happiness that should have been Francis’?

  None whatsoever.

  He listened sympathetically to Lady Meadowes’ tale of woe--an unfortunate encounter leading to her disgrace; a plea for protection and shelter. All these he could give Lady Anne and more.

  He would wait perhaps until the Greenwick babe was born. Maybe even let it grow into a fine young specimen. Then he would strike at their very heart; taking that child away without a single trace and watch their despair as they carried out a fruitless search for him.

  Yes, that is a very good plan.

  Lady Anne got to her feet, as did he.

  “Where may I lay my head for the night Your Grace?” she asked.

  Francis rang the bell to summon his butler, “Fetch Lady Anne a lady’s maid if you please,” he informed the butler with a grim smile, “and prepare her rooms, she will bide with us for a time.”

  The End

  Also by Olivia Bennet

  Thank you for reading Daring Fantasies of a Noble Lady!

  I really hope you liked reading it, as much as I enjoyed writing it ♥

  Thank you for helping me do what I love!

  Olivia Bennet

  About the Author

  Having obtained a degree in Journalism, but with an affinity for literature and creative writing, Olivia Bennet knew from a young age that her future lay in the romantic ideals of the past. With a fascination for the Regency era and a good romance, she started her career as a historical romance author the old-fashioned way: with pen and paper.

  Born in rural Devon, Olivia draws inspiration from the vast farmlands of the British countryside and the people living in the surrounding villages. An avid artist, she takes her sketchbook everywhere with her and captures the beauty of nature, which she then incorporates into her books.

  Allow your conscious to be carried away on a wind made of letters and words, of love, mystery and the magic of the Regency era. Start your journey and allow Olivia’s pen to guide you!

  Let’s connect

  oliviabennet.com

  olivia@oliviabennet.com