Her Mystery Duke (11 page)

“And…the other?”

“The other?”

A half-smile graced her pretty, pink mouth and she turned
away. “You put your fingers into my…arse.”

“
That
other.” He
chuckled, relieved that she was coming around. He had feared that he might have
misread her and pushed too hard, too fast.

She turned back to him. Her smile was radiant like sunshine.
“I never dreamed of anything like you have shown me.”

He had so much more he’d like to show her. However, he had
better not indulge again. He mustn’t exhaust himself for he had to return to
his life. Today. No more excuses. No more delays.

No more shameless self-indulgence.

Jeanne had begun to drift into a half-sleeping state. David
caressed her hip and awoke her. “Jeanne, tell me about the first.”

She opened her eyes and struggled to awake. “The first?”

“Your first lover.”

“He was Papa’s doctor.”

“His doctor?”

“Yes.”

“You mean to say he just took advantage of your situation?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. He helped me.”

His lip curled. “You mean he helped himself to you.”

She gave him a steady look. “He helped me.”

“Explain that.”

“He knew I had financial troubles. He found me a position as
a maid of all work. But goodness, I had a very difficult time being in service.
I get too easily distracted. I start something and then forget it for another
task. I would eventually manage to finish everything, but of course they wanted
things done more systematically.”

“How old were you?”

“I was seventeen.”

“You simply needed to be trained.”

“One cannot train aptitude into someone who is dreadfully
lacking in it.”

“You needed to be trained. Time and patience spent on a
young and inexperienced servant is one of the best, most long-paying
investments one can ever make in terms of service and loyalty over the course
of the years.”

“Well, I did better at the next position but one day, the
perfect scene came to me for a story. I had to write some notes down. I was
caught and they dismissed me and complained bitterly to the doctor.”

His lips twisted into a cynical smile.

“What are you thinking?”

He paused.

“Tell me.”

It seemed he debated with himself whether to answer. She
sensed this was something about the difference in their situations. He must be
an employer of servants himself.

She gentled her tone. “Please.”

His expression softened. He smoothed a lock of her hair back
then tucked it behind her ear.

“They dismissed you because they found out you were
literate. All the world despises a lower servant who is literate.”

“Oh, I don’t think that was the reason.”

“Jeanne, I am telling you it is the very reason. I would
wager a year’s rents on it.”

So, he was a property owner. Of course he was. But how large
was his estate? It really didn’t matter. After tomorrow she would never see him
again.

“What happened next?” His voice rang with impatience.

“At the third position, the master began to pay me too much
attention and his wife wasn’t happy. She accused me of being fractious and
disobedient. The doctor he told me that he would never recommend me for another
position—he had put his reputation at risk three times. He said I was just not
the right cut of cloth for service.”

“You were much too young for such a determination to be
made.”

“I think he was correct, David. I am a little like Papa in
that way. I daydream too much and I become distracted. But the expense of
keeping Papa comfortable was mounting and I needed to eat and have a roof over
my head. The doctor explained to me that some women are just meant to serve men
and to give them pleasure.

“He said if I would be agreeable, he would take me to his
bed and show me what to do. In exchange, he would pay Papa’s expenses himself
and give me money for rent and food. Later he helped me find other providers
from among those he trusted. I never had to suffer the indignity of selling my
wares on the street or in some tavern. I never had to be afraid that a man
would intentionally hurt me.”

David‘s sharp inhalation made her turn and look at him. His
nostrils had flared, ever so slightly. There was a pinched look to his
expression. Authority and power suddenly radiated from him. He seemed to be a
stranger lying beside her.

She tried to back away but he tightened his hold on her.
“Hold for a moment. You mean to tell me that not only did the doctor know you
were a virgin and that you had no formal training to make your own living but
that he still took advantage of your dire circumstances? And his solution was
to train you to be a whore for his friends?”

“He was very kind to me.”

“You were a virgin.”

“He was very considerate about that part, very gentle and
patient.”

“Oh, I see—the very soul of consideration, was he?”

“I was very nervous.”

“You were terrified.”

“Terrified is too strong a word. I was apprehensive about
the pain. But he saw to it I became quite tipsy on claret and he applied some
salve that made everything numb, I felt no pain when he penetrated me.”

David actually paled and gaped at her for a long moment.
“Good. God.”

“Stop, please. You’re making it sound as though he were this
heinous villain.”

“He took your innocence.” David sat and then swept his hand
about the chamber. “And left you here.”

“What was he supposed to do?”

“He could have wed you—or kept you in better quarters.”

“Wasn’t Thérèse your mistress?”

“That’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, it is not the same at all. I showered her with every
luxury. In addition, I gave her security. More security than most women find in
their marriages. She also was a woman, fully grown and capable of making an
informed decision. She wasn’t some starry-eyed, seventeen-year-old chit.”

“I wasn’t starry-eyed.”

“All seventeen-year-olds are starry-eyed.”

“I wasn’t seventeen when he took me to bed. I had just
turned eighteen.”

“He took shameless advantage of you. And he didn’t even give
you pleasure.”

“He gave me pleasure.”

David gave her skeptical look.

“Not as you do, but there was some pleasure. But David, I
don’t want you to have the wrong impression of the doctor. He helped me when no
one else would.”

“Surely you had relations who would help?”

“When I was sixteen, when Papa first became unable to work,
I went to his family in Marylebone. I humbled myself and I was turned away by a
servant at their doorstep. They were ashamed of Papa’s descent into madness.
They feared his child would share this insanity and they wished only to forget
the bond.”

“Who was your father’s father?”

“He is a well-respected barrister.”

“What about your mother’s family?”

“She was a clergyman’s daughter, the third youngest of
eleven children. She was sent to be a governess but she dreamed of being an
artist.”

“She taught you to read and write?”

“Yes, Papa did as well. He was proud of me.” She couldn’t
help a smile. “He called me his ‘clever girl’ and encouraged me to write my
daydreams down as stories. He was a very charming man. Mama was besotted with
him from the first, she claimed. Her family did not approve of him. He already
showed signs of instability.”

“Did he? Such as?”

“At the age of thirty-five he abandoned a successful legal
practice and devoted himself to his art. But such wild visions fueled his art.
Many people were repulsed. His work was shocking, bordering on sacrilegious and
obscene. But Mama was young and naïve. She thought he was a rare genius and he
promised her so much. He promised to develop her art and to help her become
known for her talents. Since Mama was under twenty-one, they ran away to wed.
Her family struck her name from the family Bible. Each year at her father’s
birthday, she wrote to him, and each year he ignored her letters. Why would I
have ever expected help from them? Especially since I am tainted with my
father’s insane seed?”

“Do you fear that you shall become mad like him?”

“I try not to think about it. The worries of today are more
than enough for me.”

His expression became pained. “You have known too much
worry.”

“Goodness, David, I am hardly unique. When I lost that last
position, I told myself that I had best focus all my efforts on developing my
writing. I worked hard on my own and then later the doctor introduced me to his
friend, Bernard. He is a playwright and he helped me to develop my writing.”

“He bedded you as well and gave you rent money?”

“Yes, of course he did.”

“Do not ever tell me the name of this doctor or I fear I
shall be greatly tempted to find him and call him out.”

She gaped at him. He seemed perfectly serious. She hadn’t thought
of a gentleman being an idealist. Women all over London were forced by
circumstances into bedding men for money. It was just the way of things.

“He is dead, David. He died of an apoplexy in late autumn.”

“Fortunate for him.”

At his hard and cold tone, a shiver convulsed her heart for
she believed him capable of murder in that moment. It made her feel that she
knew nothing of him. What the devil? She
did
know nothing of him.

So, why had she told him so much of herself? She never spoke
of herself to others, not if she could help it. Yet she’d poured out her whole
story to him as easily as if she’d been simply reviewing events in her own
thoughts.

Suddenly, all the energy drained from her body, and she lay
back and sagged into the pillow.

“You’re tired?” He smoothed the hair off her face.

“Yes, I fear I am.”

“Then sleep, sweeting.” He caressed her hair. “I promise
your future will be far, far better than your past.”

* * * *

David awoke with a start. Sunlight illuminated the tiny
garret in all its stark poverty. Jeanne was nowhere to be seen.

At last, he now remembered everything from that last day at
his chambers at the Inns of Court.

That pivotal day, over a week ago now, he had wiped his
mouth with his handkerchief, still tasting the bitterness of tea and stomach
juices. Dizziness had confused him as he wandered back into the Inn and leaned
against the corridor wall.

Charles Toovey had been at his side. He had aided him back
outside into the fresher air and eventually had helped him into a carriage.

Now, in Jeanne’s bed, David bent his head and rubbed the
aching spot between his brows. He must have been completely out of his senses.

Toovey was the one person he loathed with a visceral,
burning passion. The hate was reciprocated. All over the one thing the two men
shared: the memory of having loved Thérèse.

Lord Toovey, an impoverished but well-connected baron, was
also a leading figure on the opposite political side. It was well known that
David championed the cause of better regulation for insane asylums, and Toovey
would do anything he could to hurt David.

It was past time for him to return to his own world.

He arose from the bed, shaved with cold water, then found
his clothes where Jeanne had left them, folded neatly over a chair.

* * * *

Jeanne returned with the day’s food shopping. David stood
before her little mirror, fully dressed, and giving what looked to be the final
adjustments to his cravat.

She shut the door. At the soft click, he turned.

Bernard had often used the term “force of presence” to
describe a person. Looking at David in this moment, Jeanne knew exactly what he
meant. David’s expression was that of a stranger. Cool, slightly arrogant,
focused on whatever business he had out in the world. Power seemed to radiate
from him, so much so that instinctively, she took a step back and then another.
She felt that perhaps she ought to bend into a curtsy, but then again that
would be silly given their previous carnal frolicking.

She could also sense his urgency to be gone as if though
were a tangible thing.

Of course she was glad he was going. She looked forward to
having her peace and privacy restored.

“My man of business, Mr. Packer, will come and see you
soon.” Even his voice sounded different. The voice of a man who was aware of
every moment spent on trivialities.

“It is not necessary.” She reached into her pocket and
closed her hand around the bills he’d already given her, her percentage for the
landlady and repayment for the shaving articles and food. That she hadn’t
minded. Her funds were limited. But she wouldn’t take payment for doing what
had only been the humane thing to do. More than that, she wouldn’t become
obligated to a gentleman who then might feel he had the right to come and
disturb her privacy any time he felt lusty or despondent with life.

He stepped closer. His look became a shade more personal.

It was as though she was noticing his handsomeness for the
first time. She caught her breath.

He bent toward her, smelling of inexpensive shaving soap and
her clove toothpowder.

He kissed her mouth.

It wasn’t necessary for him to do that. They weren’t lovers
now. And it should have been a brief salutation. However, their lips seemed to
cling. Her mouth came open as if of its own accord. Their tongues caressed. The
taste of his was all spice, sparking in her blood like fire. Her hands slid up
his arms and gripped his shoulders.

He pulled his mouth from hers and stared down with a fierce
expression. “Damn.”

Then he put his hands to her back and with one jerk, slammed
her body to his. He brought his mouth on hers again, crushing her lips with his
own, running his tongue over the seam, demanding entry. She opened and he
thrust inside, sweeping her breath away. For long moments, she ardently
returned his tongue’s strokes, desperate to imprint his feel, his taste on her
senses.