Her Mystery Duke (20 page)

“Open, darling.”

She opened her mouth and he slid his cock on her tongue. At
the touch of all that velvety steel, she closed her eyes and trembled and
sealed her lips about his tubular girth. He throbbed against her tongue.

God, he tasted sweet.

She’d never tasted anything so sweet. Wild thrills raced all
over her body in time with her thudding heartbeat. With ruthless hunger, she
swallowed him down until he nested deep in her throat. She moaned in what could
only be called a convulsive rhythm.

His hands gripped her head. “Christ…that’s so good,
darling.”

He began fucking her mouth, her throat. Her heart thudded so
hard now, she feared it would explode, that she would expire. She didn’t care.
Exhilaration rose in her. Her cunt clenched in desperation. She pressed her
legs tightly together.

“Jeanne…Jeannie.” His voice was hoarse. He kneaded her head.
His cock quaked within her mouth. He gave a harsh shout. His seed poured in
furious jets into her throat. She swallowed and swallowed and swallowed.

Deep, joy like glittering gold and silver swept through her.

God, he was her everything. Just everything. She would do
anything for him. Wanted to give him all of herself.

He withdrew.

She gasped and gasped, drawing in air.

He leaned forward. His panting, expulsive breaths blew over
her shoulder and back as he tugged on her bounds. Her wrists came apart.

He took her right hand and pulled it down her belly and to
her cunt. “Touch yourself.”

Aroused as she was, she needed no encouragement. She began
rubbing her nub.

He crouched in front of her. “Spread your legs, farther
apart.”

She spread her thighs as wide as she could, all the while,
looking him in the eye. She loved his eyes upon her, loved that he could see
every part of her. She had never been so wanton. She loved that she was able to
be so wanton. So open. So free. Only with David. Only
for
David. Her fingers moved upon her flesh in a frantic pace, she
couldn’t stop that even if she wanted.

“Oh, oh!” A stab of warning pleasure jolted deep in her
cunt.

He moved closer and slid two fingers into her dripping channel.

She gripped them, hard, with her inner walls then began
thrusting her pelvis, fucking herself on his digits. “David, David…Oh God!
Dav—”

The spasms overtook her. Convulsed her. Pleasure detonated
within her.

* * * *

Jeanne opened her eyes with a start. The chamber was bathed
in the very faint light of coals. She’d been exhausted after their carnal play
and, limp as a rag doll, she’d clung to David as he carried her here, to this
grand four-poster bed with its velvet hangings and fine, almost silken, linen
sheets. She had never lain in such a soft featherbed.

He had held her and told her over and over how lovely he
found her to be and what a good girl she was.

Yes, he’d been quite serious, what a
good girl
she was.

And in those moments, she had soaked up every word he had
said as though it were the most profound poetry.

Now he breathed deeply, evenly.

Relief spread through her like pleasure. He was sleeping
soundly.

She could leave now and not have to face the repercussions
of having submitted to him so fully. Her gaze caressed his face. She would miss
him even more dreadfully after this time than before. But he made her feel
things she didn’t want to risk.

She arose slowly and carefully, then crept downstairs and
gathered up her clothes. Once dressed, she slipped out into the early dawn. It
wasn’t long until she found a hackney with an ambitious young driver looking
for his first customer of the day.

Chapter Nine

Jeanne lay on her bed, eyes closed. She wasn’t going to
look.

Her eyes briefly opened as she glanced at the folded
parchment lying on the pillow next to her. The heavy embossed seal.

No, she wouldn’t read it.

She tossed on her other side, away from the unwelcome letter.
She’d been restive for two whole weeks, sleeping little, eating little. It was
really quite frustrating for she’d expected to feel the greatest relief and
peace once she’d made the decision to put David’s generous offer from her mind.

Worse, for the first time in years, she noticed the oldness
of her garret. The moldering odor that no amount of vinegar scrubs or lavender
sachets could erase. Yes, of course she’d known her living space was shabby.
But she’d become accustomed to it. Now it bothered her. Another disruption to
her peace.

She supposed that once she found another publisher she would
be able to afford new furniture and fresh whitewash. But she’d have to sell a
lot of copies for that. Thus far, she had submitted a sample of her work to
several publishers. No word yet.

She’d been writing furiously since their last night
together, but none of it was suitable for publication. Her mind spun stories so
salaciously erotic that she burned them as soon as they flowed from her pen to
the paper. Yet she was driven to write them.

A hard lump seemed to protrude through her worn, flattened
featherbed. Oh God, she couldn’t get comfortable enough to sleep. If she didn’t
sleep regularly, she couldn’t write. At least, she couldn’t write anything
worth reading.

Now it was early morning and she’d not slept. With a sigh,
she rolled back to her other side.

The letter lay there.

What did he have to say?

Apprehension twisted through her. Her heart rate increased a
degree. His handsome features played over in her mind. Did she imagine him more
handsome now than he really was? Probably. She tended to do make everything
into something more than it was in her daydreams.

David…

The textured feel of the parchment fascinated her as she
traced her fingertips over it, all fibers and smoothness. She traced the edges
of the seal and the embossed H. The wax peeled back. Well, after much picking
at it.

The letter sprang open. A bold, black yet precise script
slanted across the parchment. Her heart leapt into her throat.

My Darling Girl

She sucked in her breath, and with a fierce wave of her
hand, brushed the letter off the pillow. Her heart beat a little harder as she
watched the unfolded parchment float to the floor. Some bills of money floated
down as well.

His darling girl.

She released her breath. He wasn’t angry. Or if he had been,
he’d recovered from it.

What else did he say? Just because she wanted to read it
meant nothing. She never had to respond. She’d just as likely toss it into the
dying fire as keep it.

She was simply curious. After all, one didn’t receive a
missive from a duke every day.

She scrambled to the side of the bed and hung her head off
the edge. Blood flowed into her brain as she reached for the discarded letter.
Lying back on her pillow, she whipped it open.

My Darling Girl,

It is very late at
night and I have had a little too much to drink. It is not an irregular
occurrence of late. I don’t sleep but instead I lie here, night after night,
wondering—did you run because you were disgusted by what we did? Or were you
frightened by yourself?

Being with you was the
most ecstatic, pure experience I have ever known. Your absence has left me with
an insatiable hunger. If you don’t come back to me, I shall visit some of those
other women whom I know.

An image of David’s tall, powerful body covering some
faceless woman, moving upon her, filling her with his erection, caused Jeanne’s
chest to seize up. Barely able to draw a breath, she continued reading:

However, if I do this,
after what we shared, I feel I shall be killing something within myself.
Something I never realized was there. I shall become corrupted in a way I have
never been in danger of becoming before. You alone have the power to save me.

D.

She scanned over his directions in the postscript. He wished
her to visit him at his chambers. This morning. The money was for a proper
carriage ride. She wasn’t to walk or use a substandard hackney. Her throat
burned. The paper drifted from her hand to the mattress. David needed her.

* * * *

Jeanne followed David’s directions to his chambers at the
Inns of Court. Now she held her head up, trying to give the impression that she
wasn’t a bit out place in this male bastion. She stared at his door, hesitating
to knock.

“Are you here to see Hartley?”

Jeanne turned.

A gentleman of medium height stood there. He was handsome in
a classical, elegant way with bright auburn hair. Faint traces of fading
bruises ringed his eye. He offered her a smile of blinding charm. She disliked
him on sight, thought she couldn’t say exactly why.

“Good day, my name is Lord Toovey.” He waited with an
expectant expression.

“Should I know you?”

He laughed softly. “You mean Hartley didn’t mention me?”

“No, he didn’t.”

He eyed her intently, his gaze dropping to focus on her
bodice. It made her feel unclean. “Miss Darling, of much recent fame, I
presume?”

She folded her arms over her bosom.

“I must say, you are very different than I expected from the
descriptions and where you were living—Pardon me, I must be going. Good day.”

He hurried off down the opposite end of the corridor. She
glanced in the direction he had been looking. It was empty.

Several moments passed, and then she heard the sound of
boots on the floor and masculine voices echoing as a group of men approached.

David was dressed in a medium blue cutaway jacket, a pale
gray waistcoat, and dark gray pantaloons. He walked and spoke attentively with
an older-looking man.

He looked directly at her but his expression remained
impersonal.

Her smile froze on her lips as he took his leave of the
group then came toward her.

“Good day, Miss Darling.” He placed his hand on the
doorknob. “Have you been waiting long?”

His calm, precise tone resonated with authority. His face
could have been sculpted from marble, a high broad forehead, formidable cheekbones,
strong, square jaw. Cool, penetrating eyes. He held himself with such rigid,
erect posture. Heavens, he was a stranger to her.

This was the real David. No, not David, but Charles George
Henry David Somerville, the eleventh Duke of Hartley. An aristocrat. A
statesman. It was so odd. She had seen him delirious with fever, lost,
confused, lusty, angry. So many intimate and vulnerable positions. But she had
never fully seen this side of him. The public side. It was as though she were
meeting him backwards.

She was a little intimidated by him. All right, she was
exceedingly intimidated by him. It was hard, so hard to believe this was the
same man who had written to her and spoken so ardently of his need. Part of her
wanted to turn and run back down the corridor, all the way back home to her
safe garret.

But the words from his letter kept replaying in her mind.

He needed her.

Not just for the comfort of her body but in an emotional
way.

She needed someone to need her like that? No, of course not.
This was just her carnal desire and silly, soft heart getting the better of
her. Her weakness.

He opened the door and then touched her arm lightly,
escorting her into his chambers the way a man would do with any woman he was
friendly with. Several desks flanked the antechamber. They were all empty
except the first, which was occupied by a young man who looked up as they
approached. He stood. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

“Mr. Whitting, you may leave.”

Mr. Whitting’s eyes widened. He flicked his gaze to the clock
on his desk and then back to David. He looked a little scandalized. “Your
Grace?”

“You may leave for the day, Mr. Whitting.” David’s polite
tone was quite firm.

The young man donned a blank expression. Then he began
gathering his things.

David urged her toward the door at the rear of the chamber.
He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. “So, you read my letter?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Her voice crackled and she swallowed to
clear it. She lowered her tone to a whisper, “I was afraid…of myself.”

The pupils of his eyes grew wider, giving him a dark look.
The keys rattled. She glanced down. His hand was shaking ever so slightly as he
inserted the key into the lock. Her tummy quaked with an answering
anticipation.

When the door was open, he took her arm and drew her inside.

He shut the door behind them and then he twirled her. A
whoosh of air. A flash of light in the corner of her sight. He pushed her
backwards and her arse made contact with the closed door. He pressed his weight
against her, slamming her bottom against the door. Taking her breath. Thrilling
her right down to her toes.

With his hands fierce upon the curve of her waist, he
brought his mouth down on hers and he kissed her with a fierce hunger that
sucked her breath away. His tongue slid over hers like wet, hot velvet. Her
blood hummed and sang. It was a wild, glorious ride and she hung on until she
was choking for air. She pressed against his chest.

He lifted his head and stared at her with lips slightly
parted, his eyes glazed with desire.

“So, you’re not unhappy to see me?” She attempted to tease
him, the words coming out between pants for air.

He cupped her face with both his hands. “You are so very
lovely. It seems like months since I have touched you like this.”

He swept down and captured her lips again. His mouth pressed
hers, hard, demanding. More thrills slammed through her. He pressed his pelvis
to her belly. The weight of his erection seared her through their clothing. He
rubbed against her tummy whilst rolling his hips. A slow, steady, suggestive
dance of desire.