Her Mystery Duke (27 page)

This was the politician. The master orator.

Once again, even after all this time, she wasn’t certain if
she shouldn’t be a bit intimidated. He was leagues above her. Any woman who
witnessed his combination of polite charm and power would want him for a
protector. A lover.

All the other women present were what a man would call a
diamond of the first water. They were all elegant and fashionably attired.
Tall, willowy, with tiny waists and perfect apple-sized breasts.

Jeanne was too quiet, until she wasn’t. And then she was too
direct. She was awkward, short, and far too plump. Her breasts were more like
melons.

She did not fit with these people. She was not an elegant
courtesan.

The evening grew long. The political debate became
half-hearted and then died completely. Jeanne could feel the tension
reverberating off David’s body. He’d been upset by something someone had said.
He took issues seriously. Maybe too seriously. He began to drink too much.
Others were doing the same. The lamplight dimmed. Low giggles and deep whispers
sounded.

David’s hand slipped from her shoulder and he laid it
lightly over her breast.

She startled. Her nipple hardened. His fingers softly
pinched her and little shocks of pleasure stabbed her. Warmth pooled into her
pelvis and her cunt contracted. A little dismayed, she glanced up.

Two of the other men’s mistresses were watching.

They were glaring at her. Fierce daggers that could surely
kill.

Such formidable anger set her heart thudding and made her
mouth dry. But she wouldn’t look away. Her muscles went rigid. Instinctively,
defensively, she lifted her chin and balled her fists against her velvet
skirts.

“Let’s retire.” David’s voice broke into her thoughts.

Once upstairs, they sat in opposite wingchairs. Still shaken
by the open hostility directed at her, she drank deeply of her champagne.

When the glass came up empty, she sighed. Her nerves were
still on edge. Her hackles wouldn’t lower themselves.

With the bottle in his hand, he easily leaned across the
distance. Heavens, the man was so tall. He filled her glass. “Drink.”

She downed it quickly. The bubbles rushed too quickly down
her throat and she coughed. Then she looked up at him and laughed.

“Again.” He smiled, slightly. “I want you at least half as
drunk as I am.”

He offered the bottle and she held her glass out but drank
more slowly this time.

Pleasant giddiness settled over her.

“Come here.” He motioned towards himself.

A bit wobbly, she stood then walked to him.

“Turn.”

He loosened the laces on her gown. She turned back to him,
looking him in the eyes, his gorgeous green eyes, whilst she removed her
clothing.

“Stop,” he said, when she stood in her stocking and garters.
He motioned to the bed. “On your back.”

She complied.

“Put your legs over the edge and spread them wide for me.”

She opened her legs. He sat there, fully clothed, watching
her. She caressed her breasts and writhed.

“Show me yourself.”

Knowing exactly what he meant, she let her hand slide down
her belly and over the curls on her mons. She spread her nether lips. Her
fingers strayed and rubbed along the sides of her nub.

He exhaled. It might have been more of a groan. She couldn’t
tell. Her heartbeat was drumming loudly in her ears.

He stood and approached the bed then knelt between her legs.
He took her right limb, lifted it and rubbed his cheek against it. The faint
stubble on his cheek rasped the tender flesh. He put his open mouth on her
inner thigh and sucked and licked. Sparks flashed straight from that spot to
her cunt. He raised his head, such a serious expression on his face as he
studied the mark he had made. He licked it with a renewed zeal, as though the
flesh were all the sweeter for his having marked it.

He’d left her hands untied, allowing her the novelty of
twining her hands into his hair as he kissed and licked his way to her apex.

And then he applied that brilliant orator’s tongue in a far,
far more basic manner. For a moment, she imagined he was doing this whilst they
were still downstairs. What would it be like to make love before an audience?
God knew he could give a lecture and demonstration in the very skill he was now
exercising.

Slowly, he drew the sensations out, until she was begging
him, trying to squeeze his head with her thighs to urge him.

He held her legs ruthlessly apart.

She dug her fingers into his silken black hair, threw back
her head and arched her hips.

He took her nub into his mouth and sucked.

Her cunt contracted, spasmodically.

She screamed his name. Over and over and over.

He crawled onto the bed and lay beside her. Almost
instantly, his breathing became deep and he softly snored. His brandy-scented
breath wafted over her as she closed her eyes and let the pleasant drowsiness
take her.

Late the next morning, while David continued to sleep,
Jeanne went alone to the breakfast room. Apparently, others had slept just as
long, for they were still lingering over their kidneys and bacon and a host of
other foods that seemed far too heavy. She put a hand over her queasy stomach
and attempted some honeyed tea. The warm liquid did make her feel a good deal
better.

More than a couple of mistresses stared at her with open,
envious hostility.

More than a few of the peers stared at her with speculation.
And some with lust. Their gazes burned into her.

Well, it wasn’t unexpected, was it? Especially at an event
attended by several men named George and Charles. A few named Henry. And only
one David.

Suppose someone had been in the corridor at just the right
moment? Suppose they had gossiped?

At the realization, she’d set her teacup down, excused
herself, and fled back to their chamber.

David had been awake and ready for her. On her knees, she
took his erection into her mouth. Deep into her throat. And he had been
demanding. Taking her to the very limit of her ability to keep up, to give.
Though his climax had been solitary, it had been one of the headiest, most
fulfilling experiences she’d ever known. Her heart had hammered against her
chest wall so hard, she feared it might explode.

She adored being his. And after he led her back to bed and they
lay together, he had gone back to sleep. She studied the faint lines around his
eyes and mouth and thought of yet another great difference between them.

He was eighteen years older than she.

Even if he never tired of her, he would not always be in her
life. She would likely outlive him by many years.

Silent tears had fallen down her cheeks.

* * * *

The carriage came to a stop, startling her out of her
thoughts. Another change of horses.

She was so impatient to be home. She had so many things to
think deeply on. Over the past days, she’d had an outside view into what others
thought of her. They would compare her to those other kept creatures. So hungry
for more privilege, power and luxury. They were always performing, always
preening, always looking to better their situation.

Was Jeanne fooling herself? Perhaps Dr. Edmonton’s
prediction was coming true after all. In the past weeks, she had not written
anything worth publishing. She couldn’t help it. She’d lost all passion for the
stories that once enthralled her and driven her to write.

At the house party, just last night, after dinner in the
parlor, David had told everyone that she was a published author of children’s
stories. He had then pulled out the leather-bound volume which had just been
released by her new publisher. But she couldn’t help feeling she’d just gone
from being an awkward, chubby, common girl to being a complete oddity.

But David had beamed with pride and several of the gentlemen
looked at her with renewed interest.

She still felt somewhat disconnected from the whole matter
of being published. She had expected to feel such joy. Oh, what was wrong with
her? Why was she suddenly so dissatisfied with her writing? She should simply
force herself to write and keep writing until something good came of it.
However, she never seemed to have the time. There always seemed to be fittings
for new gowns, sittings to have her hair arranged by her maid, or late
mornings, sleeping off the effects of too much lovemaking.

Even David had admitted that he had not made love so
frequently since he’d been twenty-five or younger.

“You shall be the death of me,” he had said more than once.
But he had laughed as he said it. David seemed filled with more energy than he
could ever use. As though he were restless in his current manner of living.
Daily, at dawn, he rode his horse in the park and he boxed at his sporting
club. But it almost seemed an energy born of impatience with the world.

Still, they did seem to engage in an inordinate amount of
carnal activity. It must be a phase of being new lovers, like a honeymoon. It
was completely normal for her to feel tired. To be overwhelmed by her new life
and the demands of being David’s mistress.

Or was all of that simply an excuse?

“What is on your mind?”

At David’s deep, relaxed-sounding voice, she glanced up.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were awake.”

She cringed. What a stupid thing to say. Try as she might,
she’d never be as interesting or sophisticated as those other women at the
party. Would he eventually tire of such a dull little mouse of a mistress?

He traced a fingertip lightly between her eyes. “Whatever
can make you frown like that?”

She tried to relax her face. “You don’t really want to hear
my thoughts at this moment.”

“They are not happy thoughts?”

“Far from it.”

“Well, I want to hear them anyway.”

“I was thinking of those other women at the party.”

His features became tense “They are courtesans. They are
different from you.”

Unease twisted through her stomach. Was he unhappy with her
behavior? With the way she hadn’t fitted in? “Are they really so different?”

His countenance eased. “Of course they are.”

“You may think so. But I think father’s doctor would say his
prediction had come true. The world will say it also.”

He drew his dark brows together and his expression grew
pained. “Jeanne, don’t do this. You’re not used to travel yet. It is part of
the reason why we went there to begin with, to accustom you. You’re simply
tired.”

She chewed on the tip of her glove.

“I have asked you not to do that.”

She felt her frown snap back into place. “Because ladies
don’t nibble on their gloves.”

“Yes and because it gives away your nervousness. It is not a
good habit to encourage. It is not always wise to reveal what you are feeling.”

She put her hand into her lap. “If you had a daughter, would
you want her living the life I currently lead?”

His mouth tightened and he re-shifted in the seat. “Jeanne,
that’s not a fair question.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not. My daughter would have an inheritance, a
title. She would have so many more options than you. It would never be a fair
comparison.”

The carriage began to roll again.

David studied her for long moments with his most penetrating
gaze, his heavy, dark brows brought low as though he were thinking deeply.
Analyzing her. She shifted her position and resisted the strong urge to chew on
her fingertip again. “Why did you stop writing?”

The question fell like a lead weight between them.

“Why do you believe I am not writing?”

He gave her a stern look.

“Don’t prevaricate with me.” He took her hand and removed
the glove. He ran a caress over her fingers. “I know you’re not writing because
your hands are always so clean now. No ink smudges. Tell me why?”

“I just don’t find the time for it lately. I am sure it will
pass.”

“You’re not like those other women. You need something of
your own to feel passionate about.”

“I admit I don’t feel much passion for writing now.”

“Maybe it is time for you to re-evaluate your work.”

“Yes, perhaps.” She said it merely to placate him and end
the discussion. Any time she thought about her lack of feeling for her work, it
made her agitated. She certainly didn’t wish to discuss it with him.

“You insisted on presenting a very hard and prickly exterior
when we met. However, on the inside, you were really the next thing to a girl.”

It made her exceedingly uncomfortable to have him analyze
her like this. He seemed to take a certain pleasure in it. She shrugged. “I
suppose I must accept your assessment. I couldn’t see myself from the outside.”

“Now you are maturing. Perhaps your writing needs to be
allowed to mature as well. Perhaps that is where your sense of discontent with
it is coming from.”

“Perhaps.” Her head was beginning to ache from this
conversation. She put her hands to her temples and rubbed. She always seemed to
be rushing, hurrying. There was never enough calm to think clearly.

“Parliament will rise soon. We shall go away. Maybe
someplace near my estate in York. We shall spend several weeks together alone.”

“That would be wonderful,” Jeanne said.

“You are simply tired.” He motioned to his lap. “Lay your
head down and try to sleep some.”

She laid her head on his lap and pressed her cheek to the
fine nap of his velveteen pantaloons. The warmth of his well-muscled thighs and
the scent of his body relaxed her own tense body. Comforted her. She wrapped
her hand about his knee and closed her eyes.

He slipped the pins from her hair, one by one, and then he began
massaging her scalp. “We shall be home soon, my love, and we shall sleep in
your bed tonight. Things will seem clearer to you in the morning.”