Her Mystery Duke (26 page)

“Yes, I could adapt.”

“If I cannot visit on any night, I will send you word as
soon as I know and you will not complain. It is still my prerogative to visit
or not visit as the demands of my work require.”

This was exactly what she had most feared, having someone
else take control over her life, and yet each word he spoke put a curl of
warmth around her heart. There was something deeply satisfying about turning
her life, her service, over to him.

Being needed by him for more than just Saturday and
Wednesday.

“There are other things, Jeanne. New rules for you.”

“Yes, new rules. You are not to run in the street like a
heedless hoyden. You must take Mary or Mrs. Wilson with you when you go out.
You have to start acting like a lady if you’re going to be mine. It made you
feel insecure when you weren’t getting the dominance you desired from me. You
misbehaved to earn my attentions.”

Yes, that had been exactly what had happened. She nodded.

“For a short time, when I come to visit, I am going to give
you a real spanking, just to assert that it is my right to do so. And you’ll
allow it just to show your acceptance of my domination.”

“How long will this occur?”

“We’ll know when it is no longer needed. You don’t
completely understand yet. It is something that can’t simply be understood
without experiencing it. But it will create a bond of deep trust between us. No
one has to know. It will be our secret alone.”

This should have been the point where she told him he was
insane and arose from the bed. It was at least deserving of a sea change. Yet,
her heart beat harder and pleasurable heated chills raced through her. Yes,
that was what she wanted, to be subject to his authority. There was a warm,
expanding sensation in the pit of her belly, as though the hard ball of
defiance that had rested there had melted away. It was a curious type of
feeling. Like being utterly safe.

And “sea change” didn’t seem such a silly phrase any longer.

None of this seemed silly now.

“All right, David, I am willing to try it.” Unbelievably,
she was looking forward to his firm hand. It was more arousing than anything
she’d ever known.

For now she would simply follow her desire.

Trust in her desire.

Trust in him.

He rolled her onto her back. “Stay like this.”

He left the bed and went to the dresser and opened the
drawer. He returned with a small coil of pale, cream-colored rope. He took one
of her arms, turned it and stroked the underside with the rope.

The soft tickle on her sensitive flesh startled her. She had
expected a rough texture. “What is it?”

“It is rope made from silk.”

“Oh.” Her heart began to beat harder. He had always used scarves
or stockings before. Somehow the rope made things more intense. She couldn’t
say exactly why. Perhaps because it was an item purchased intentionally to tie
her up. It was premeditated.

He took the tasseled end and brushed it against her breasts.
The feathery softness teased over her flesh. Over her stiffening nipples. She
arched her back and moaned. He took her arms, one by one, and pulled them over
her head. The rope wrapped around her wrists, a silken slide, caressing her. He
made several tugs. And then he inserted a finger between the rope and her skin
as he adjusted the rope. The feeling of being handled, manipulated, fussed
over, made her limbs go weak. Heavy. She didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to
think. She just wanted to lie there forever and let him do as he willed.

Then he pulled back and let his gaze sweep over her. There
was no mistaking the satisfaction in his gaze. “Pull, hard.”

She pulled. Her arms moved slightly against the bounds.
Electrical sparks raced through her whole body. The delectable sense of being
helpless and totally at his mercy.

White flashed in the corner of her vision. He held a strip
of white silk. “I am going to place this over your eyes.”

A flash of intensified desire infused her. Crackled along
her skin. This was something new. He had never covered her eyes before. She
nodded. He dropped the cloth over her eyes then lifted her head and tied it at
the back.

Everything was dark.

His fingertips touched her like gentle rain. Too light. Her
nipples began to ache for more. She writhed and moaned.

Wet warmth flicked at her nipple. It instantly tightened
into an almost painful peak. She cried out and tugged at her bounds. He licked
and sucked and nipped at those pebbled points. Rubbed his cheek against them,
the faint stubble rasping against the inflamed nub. Ecstasy washed over her.

He bit her a little harder. Twisted and pinched. Warm,
melting honey pooled deep in her belly. Her womb felt as though it were
quivering. He put his hand on her mons and plunged two fingers into her and
began pressing into her forward wall.

God, that was exactly it. Exactly what she needed. Her
insides began to give way, melting, melting. Sweetness engulfed her. A pure
feeling of perfect love.

He brushed his thumb over her nub then rubbed it, on the
side through the protective hood. She writhed and twisted against her bounds
and pressed the soles of her feet into the mattress.

He slid down her body, kissing her naval on the way down to
her pelvis. He bent and put his mouth over her erect nub. Spasms overtook her,
deep, intense, wild shocks of pleasure so powerful, she arched into his mouth
and screamed.

Sweat cooled on her body as she caught her breath. He was
lying beside her again, smoothing the hair off her face. He spoke, “Earlier,
you wouldn’t allow yourself to come because you wanted to retain some control
over a situation where you felt uneasy. But you can see how much more
pleasurable it is to let go and give me control over your body, over your
pleasure.

“No matter what you do, no matter if you feel you deserve it
or not, ultimately, it is my decision if and when you will come. Your pleasure
is mine to give or withhold. This is something you have to learn more
completely. And then you will understand all of this more fully.”

He lifted her head and removed the blindfold.

She blinked, trying to become accustomed again to the
lamplight. “The withholding or gifting of pleasure, this is a game other people
play?”

“Yes, they do. However, Jeanne, it really doesn’t matter
what other people do or don’t do. We shall do what pleases us and what feels
right for both of us. There are no guidebooks on this sort of thing. We shall
have to find our own way.” He studied her a moment with those beautiful emerald
eyes. “You enjoy this, the binding? The giving over of control to me?”

At his words, she couldn’t help twisting again, testing the
bounds. “You know I do.”

“Yes, but we must always communicate and be fully open about
such matters. That’s the most important thing. We must have trust, utter trust
in each other and our honesty.”

“Yes, I agree.”

He reached up and began loosening the rope on her wrists.
Her arms came free and he took them and massaged them. He bent. He kissed each
of her wrists, on the inside. A gentle, feather soft touch. “Every time I bind you
in a literal way, we are bound closer together.”

His words put a burst of warmth into her chest. He spoke the
truth.

He drew the coverlet up from where it was folded at the foot
of the bed. The he lay back upon the pillows and took her hand and pressed it
to his hard muscled chest. “Since you will be my official mistress, I think we
should have more openness and honesty between us about all matters—not just
what occurs in our bed.”

She curled into him and nodded. She was safe here. She
wanted to stay here forever.

“There’s something I haven’t told you because before now, it
really did not concern you.”

“I understand.”

“I still provide for Thérèse.”

His words slammed into her like a shock of icy water. Her
neck muscles went rigid. Oh, she did
not
want to speak of that woman. Not now. But he did.

He must have felt her tension. He began to caress her neck.
“She hasn’t been my lover since before Trafalgar.”

Her neck relaxed. “Why would you support such a faithless
mistress, so long after your liaison ended?”

“She’s ill. She is dying, earlier than the doctors thought.
The illness has strained some pre-existing defect in her heart. She cannot
trust her family. Her husband is dead. She has no one.”

“Why can’t she trust her family?”

“Because they are bitter over what she did years ago. She
gave up everything to be mine. I feel a responsibility and yes, guilt, over
that. Frankly, she is quite close to death. How close, the doctors cannot say.
But her life is full of pain and suffering.” He touched her cheek. “Can you
understand my sense of obligation to her? I need you to understand why I could
cosset her despite the things she did.”

“I shall try to understand.” What else could she possibly
say? She wasn’t inclined to be fond of Thérèse. She tended to view the woman as
some evil villainess.

“Well, that’s all I can ask.”

Jeanne pressed a bit closer into David’s shoulder. As though
she could hold her position with him more securely. Uneasiness prickled all
over her body. They spoke about the future. Their future. But would the past
ultimately tear them apart? Just how strong of a hold did Thérèse retain upon
David?

Chapter Eleven

Jeanne rested her head against the seatback. They were on
their way home. She’d long grown weary of the constant bouncing of the
carriage, though David had assured her it was quite well sprung. He had been
reading a political pamphlet but now the pamphlet was in his lap, his chin was
lowered, and his eyes were closed.

A May shower drummed on the roof. They’d been traveling for
hours, stopping only to change horses. Having lived the entirety of her life in
London, she’d always wanted to take a long journey but the reality of a short
journey had her wondering at the wisdom of that. To be fair, the journey away
from London had been far more interesting, full of new sights, and she’d
scarcely noticed the discomfort. Now it was nighttime and there was nothing to
see.

She closed her eyes and let her mind drift over the two last
months. David did visit her at least four or five out of seven nights a week,
depending on his schedule. And yes, he had actually spanked her arse, every
day, for a whole week.

And the effect of that? She could only remember that week as
a feverish haze of pure carnality.

He’d been right. She craved the sensation of being vulnerable
to him and letting go. She craved surrender.

Her demeanor towards him had changed in that time and now
when he arrived, she felt every part of herself attune to him. At the sound of
his voice or the touch of his hand, she knew an instant sense of letting go.
Giving control over to him. Her little worries and fears slid away. She focused
on him and what he wanted from her. Even thinking about it all now made her
cunt slick and she felt that sense of warmth and relaxation in her belly.

He changed her. Their interaction had changed her. It was
easy now to be soft, submissive with him. Punishment spankings were not very
often now. It was the knowing that he could and would master her that mattered.
But they shared many playful, erotic spankings.

He had also begun to truly treat her as a mistress. Her
closets were filled with all manner of gorgeous clothes. Her jewel case—yes,
Jeanne Darling actually had a jewel case—was filled with a small but costly and
carefully selected collection of necklaces and earbobs.

He’d had her portrait painted. He carried a miniature of the
more modest portrait in his pocket.

He took her to the theatre, to concerts and the gardens. For
drives in the park on some afternoons.

Now she wouldn’t dream of dressing in any manner that would
give him cause for shame when she was with him. Yet her time seemed constantly
taken up with fittings and more fittings. The dressmaker came to visit her and
yet it still seemed to take so much time.

She never spoke to him in snappish or disrespectful tones
and wouldn’t dream of keeping him waiting, if she could possibly help it. His
time was too valuable. She understood his position better. No, maybe she simply
trusted him more now.

Yes, it was the trusting that made the distinction. The
change in her.

For the first time since she’d been a very small girl, she
felt a type of security. Not the financial security she had thought having her
writing published would give her. No, this was an emotional type of security
that she felt right down to her bones. She had feared this.

Now she didn’t know if she could ever give it up.

Yet she was acutely aware of their differences. Not just in
wealth or social station but also in intellectual capacity. She was just
scribbler, a daydreaming girl.

He could speak five languages, if one counted Latin and
Greek. And he seemed to know everything about everything. History in particular
was his forte. He was socially facile and everlastingly polite, seeming to know
the correct thing to say in any circumstance.

Recently, he had taken her for two days in the country at
the house of one of his friends, Lord Sable.

In the parlor, she had sat where he wanted her. On the
floor, leaning against his legs. That position hadn’t been as improper as it
might sound. There were no wives in attendance, and almost every peer had
brought a mistress. The women had sat in their lord’s lap or on the floor as
Jeanne had. It was all quite relaxed. She had never imagined seeing so many
wealthy, titled gentlemen in such compromising positions.

She listened to their political talk, noticing how David
spoke in deliberate, soft tones with an undercurrent of authority and
assurance. Steel beneath a surface veneer of silken smooth persuasion.