Her Mystery Duke (25 page)

She just kept staring at him with those penetrating eyes and
he knew she saw more than he wished for her to see.

“I shall survive. No matter your decision. You needn’t worry
over me,” she said.

* * * *

Several hours later, David stood in the parlor of Jeanne’s
house, taking a moment to have a brandy and collect his thoughts. Jarring
echoes of the supper party rang in his mind. This who liked him and admired his
work had tried too hard to be cheerful and avoid mentioning the lost vote.
Those who were opposed to him and his work had made underhanded, jabbing
remarks.

Automatically, he’d made retorts fueled by facts and
delivered them with wit. Yet all the while, Jeanne’s stricken eyes had kept
flashing into his mind. Damn it all. It had been his prerogative to leave. That
was part of their arrangement. He needn’t feel remorse over it. Yet, he did.
Somehow he had begun to feel responsible, not only for Jeanne’s financial
security but also for her emotional well-being. That was exactly what he had
wanted to avoid.

He hadn’t fully committed to giving of himself to Thérèse.
And the truth had to be admitted once and for all: He may have felt a passion
for her but it had been the most destructive forced he’d known in his life. She
had been too intense, too sensitive, too self destructive for him to tolerate
on a daily basis. He had limited the time he gave her. And that had driven her
away into the arms of other men.

He was being unfair and shortsighted. Jeanne wasn’t like
Thérèse. The older woman didn’t like to face unpleasant truths, the least of
which included truths about herself.

Jeanne had been honest about her motivation and he knew that
had not been easy for her.

And they were different with each other, he and Jeanne. The
games they played went further than the carnal. The feelings of submission
lingered for Jeanne long after the act was done. And she craved those feelings
for they appeared to give her a type of emotional sustenance.

He had to admit that he also enjoyed her lingering
submissive moods. She was so soft at those times. Open. Present and completely
his in the moment. As though he were the only thing that mattered in the world.

Was it normal to find satisfaction in that? But if it
brought them mutual joy, did it even matter if it were considered normal by
others?

He adored their happy moments. He did not want to lose her.

There was no partway in matters of love.

He put his glass down. He knew what he must do.

* * * *

Dressed in a long, warm, flannel nightgown, Jeanne hugged
the bedchamber doorway. Light from the lamp in the corridor made flicking
motions on her face. She didn’t smile. She didn’t speak.

He knew why. It was because she didn’t know how to respond
or speak without revealing herself. She was guarding herself. He realized how
much he didn’t want her to be guarded with him. He now understood what it would
take to make her feel safe with him at all times. He wanted her soft and open
to him.

He reached out his hands. “Come here, Jeanne.”

She let go the doorframe and walked sedately towards him.

He took her hand. “I am sorry I left earlier.”

“I understood.”

“Don’t cover your feelings. Not with me. I frightened you
when I left earlier.”

“Yes, perhaps you did.”

He caressed her knuckles with his thumbs. “I should not have
done so. I should never leave without some resolution when we have
difficulties.”

“I should be stronger. I shouldn’t need—”

He released one of her hands and put two fingers over her mouth.
He felt a strong need to talk with her, to clear the air. But she needed
something from him first and it was time he put her emotional needs before his
own. “There’s the matter of your punishment.”

Her hand tensed within his and her eyes widened. “Cast your
eyes down when I am chastising you.”

She looked down and bit her lip. That immediate obedience
sent a wave of satisfaction through him that was more than carnal. He took her
hand and led her to the bedchamber. With no reason to delay, he sat upon the
first item of furniture he came to, the chest at the foot of her bed.

“Jeanne.” He motioned to his lap.

She laid across his knees. Docile. Waiting for her well
deserved punishment. He acknowledged the desire to give her that punishment. It
went deeper than physical. He wanted her to behave in a certain way and this
was how to achieve it. This was how they would interact. This was right. She
wanted to give him a deeper submission. An emotional submission. He wanted the
same thing. But he would have to invest the time and attention that she needed.

He pulled her nightdress up. The sight of her broad, round
arse nearly made him groan but he suppressed it and ran a caressing hand over
her flesh instead. A slight tremor racked her. The power he had over her, the
power she gave him, was intoxicating. His cock surged into a full erection.
“This is for willfully ignoring a previous agreement between us that you would
save your Wednesday for me. And it is also for being evasive with me about
having done so after the fact. It will be more than you’re accustomed to.”

“Will it?”

“The offense warrants it.” He took her hand into his left
one. “You can bear it.”

* * * *

Jeanne lay barely daring to breathe. Her heart beat wildly
with a mass of conflicting emotions. The most perplexing one of all was relief
that he would punish her tonight after all. She didn’t understand it but she
had wanted this all along, since this morning. The exhilaration of disobeying
him hadn’t been in the act of rebellion but rather the anticipation of
punishment.

Anticipation left her dry mouthed.

It didn’t make sense.

“I shall begin.”

A definite thrill chased through her. His hand made contact
with her bared buttock and the stinging pain followed. Oh, she hated a real
spanking. Why had she wanted this? Instigated this? The second came and then
the third. After several more, tears began to slide from her eyes. She bit her
lip and swallowed, hard, trying to stop the tears but the blows were becoming
more painful to her already stinging flesh. He continued. She dropped her face
to his leg and let the sobs consume her.

He caressed her back, her hair. “It’s over, all over now.
You did just fine.”

Fine? She was completely undone, sobbing. He had told her
that she would cry. He had said she would cry when she trusted him fully.

She cried in a way she had never allowed herself to do
before. She cried for Papa. She cried for her own pain and the overwhelming
burdens she’d carried in the years of her adolescence. She cried for the
unwilling loss of her innocence.

She cried until she had drained herself dry.

All the while, he stroked her back, her hair.

Her tears ebbed slowly until she was sniffling weakly. He
shifted, then handed her his handkerchief. The monogrammed H. It had been one
of the first things she’d known about him. She wiped her eyes and then blew her
nose as delicately as she could. Dear God, her arse was afire. It was as though
she’d just noticed.

“I want your apology, Jeanne.”

“I am sorry, so very sorry.”

“Go kneel on the bed.” He gave her bottom a light swat.

A brief flare of fire in her already burning flesh made her
gasp.

“Go,” he repeated, more firmly this time. The resolute tone
resounded deep in her belly. Without further thought, she scrambled to obey
him. He grasped her hips and slid the head of his cock over her wet folds,
again and again, working his way to slide it against her erect nub.

She arched back, moaning. Begging him to fill her. Her hips
began to jerk convulsively. She wanted him. Needed him. Now.

He poised himself at her entrance and thrust inside. She
clenched around him, squeezing him in grateful welcome. Never had it felt so
divine to be filled. He pulled out and thrust back inside. Very quickly. One
swift, slick slide. Her heart raced with the unbearable delight. His knob
rammed up against the mouth of her womb.

Delight radiated through her. She cried out.

He grasped the back of her neck. “That’s the way. Take me,
take all of me.”

He pulled back all the way out. Then he thrust back in, hard,
fast. Slamming against her very depths. She cried out with the joy of it. Again
and again and again, he repeated the motion.

He groaned, harshly. She adored the sound of his pleasure.
The sensation of his body against her burning arse was delicious. But suddenly,
she couldn’t travel the path of rising arousal with him. Her mind wouldn’t let
her.

He touched her nub. Teased her. Caressed her. But she still
couldn’t.

Afterwards, he held her. “What’s wrong, my darling?”

“I don’t understand myself. I am a stranger with deviant
motives.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I disobeyed you with the sole intent of earning a
punishment. Only I didn’t know that was why until the punishment was a sure and
certain thing. I was aroused by the idea yet I hated the pain.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t so much the punishment as the idea of
being dominated by me.”

“Oh…” His words settled into her mind but she still didn’t
understand. She frowned. “Most people wouldn’t consider what we do normal,
would they?”

“Some husbands punish their wives.”

She’d known of husbands who chastened their unwilling wives
for spending too much money on essentials, or because the baby cried too much,
or just because life was hard and someone had to feel their wrath. That wasn’t
exactly the comparison she wanted to hear. Uneasy because she didn’t know how
to say what she wanted to say, she grinned slightly. “Yes, some husbands do
punish their wives. However, they do it…differently. They don’t do it for
pleasure, or achieving a certain mood, like we do.” She watched him very
earnestly, seeking any sign of his hidden thoughts.

“Some people do. “We’re not so alone in our proclivities.”

“Really? But how did you ever know that you…”

 
“Thérèse learned it
from her previous lovers and she taught to me. I have taught it to you. In the
years in between you and Thérèse, by trial and subtle testing of their
reactions, I found other women who enjoyed varying degrees of it.”

She sensed his holding back. “But?”

“But only with you I have enjoyed the greatest degree of
it.”

That wasn’t especially reassuring. “So what we do would be
considered by most as very strange? Perverse?”

“I don’t know how to give an answer. It is something I have
done but not spoken of in any depth with others. I know there are places where
people go to engage in the same kinds of activities.”

She held her breath a moment then dared to ask. “Have you
been to one of those places?”

“No.” He caressed her hair and drew her closer. “I could
not—would never risk my reputation like that. I couldn’t risk the cost to my
political career. It is perfectly acceptable for a gentleman to keep a mistress
or to be seen frequenting a popular, genteel brothel. But one of those places,
no. However, that doesn’t mean those places are necessarily perverse or sinful.
I think it only matters that the participants are of age and give their full
consent. No-one should be coerced. Don’t you think it is natural for me to
dominate you? Doesn’t it feel natural?”

Renewed heat spread through her lower belly, making it very
easy to answer. “It does feel natural. The most natural thing in the world.”

“You have allowed me to dominate you with pleasure.”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it natural if I also dominate you through pain,
sometimes, if we both find pleasure through that domination?”

Another surge of heat flared in her loins. But her mind was
still unsure. “I don’t know.”

“You wanted it today, the punishment, the domination through
pain. What if I hadn’t punished you? How would that have felt?”

She shook her head. “I just don’t know.”

“You know—tell me. Admit it to yourself.”

“I would have lost respect for you.” She sucked in a breath
at that admission.

“And?”

“And I would have felt hurt. Unvalued…unloved.” She caught
her breath. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense. You want me to dominate you. When I
am distant and not providing that, you are driven to solicit that domination.”

“I suppose that is exactly what happened—but I hate to think
that I shall become like a child, behaving dreadfully to beg punishment.”

“I don’t want that either. Jeanne, what if we change our
agreement?”

That made her pause. “You want to change it?”

“I think it is best if we do. But you must agree. You must
give your full and free consent.”

Goodness, he sounded so serious. Vague discomfort fluttered
around her navel. “Go on,” she said.

“You want me to take a firm hand with you.”

Instant warmth dispelled all her uneasiness. It still didn’t
make sense, not completely. However, a small smile spread over her lips and she
found herself curling more snuggly into his large frame.

“Do you?”

Emotion pressed in her throat, rendering her unable to
answer, so she nodded.

“I want to make you a real mistress. I shall take you to the
theatre, to the opera, and to concerts, and you shall dress the part for me.”

“I suppose if I must.”

“You must. But I think you shall come to enjoy it. You’ll
have to adapt your schedule to mine for I intend to spend most nights here with
you. But I usually cannot get away from my engagements until one or two in the
morning. You shall have to accustom yourself to sleeping until noon as the
other mistresses do, for I do not want you skipping sleep on my account. How do
you feel about those changes?”