Under A Duke's Hand (16 page)

“You shouldn’t,” she pleaded. “Not at dinner.
The servants will see you.”

He gazed into her eyes, that wily, hungry
gaze that always made her squirm. He went to the servants’ door and
shut it, then returned and sat before her again, his gaze now fixed
upon her chest.

“Take your breasts out,” he said. “Fold down
your bodice so they’re plainly in view.”

“Must I?”

“You know what happens when you defy my
commands, darling.”

It was bad enough for him to fondle and
expose her. It was infinitely worse to be made to expose herself
for his sordid amusement. She reached within her bodice and lifted
her breasts so they crested the taut neckline of her gown. The
bodice pushed them up and out. Her pink nipples hardened to stiff
points. She flushed and stared at the opposite wall, avoiding his
gaze.

“You’re not still shy?” he asked. “After all
we’ve done together?”

“I believe the word is modest.”

He burst into laughter. “You’re as modest as
a peahen in season. If I lifted your skirts right now, you’d be wet
as Noah’s flood. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

She braced for him to do it, to lift her
skirts and discover the damp heat that blossomed alongside her
humiliation. “I only get wet because something is wrong with me,”
she said. “I feel things I don’t want to.”

“No.” He gave a slight shake of his head.
“You feel things I want you to, like a perfect, obedient duchess.
What a good girl you are to keep your promises, if only for love of
a horse.” He tugged one of her nipples as his lips curved in a wry
sort of smile. “Kneel down, Guinevere.”

She glanced toward the closed door. It was
not locked. She knew it wasn’t locked. He could not ask this of
her, not now. He demanded it in the bedroom all the time, but it
surely wasn’t proper to do it at dinner. He spread his legs to make
a place for her, and leaned back in his chair. She could see the
thick outline of his cock behind the falls of his breeches.

“I do not like to wait,” he said quietly.

She went to her knees because she had no
choice in the matter. If she didn’t obey him, he’d force her, or
punish her, or both. He toyed with her breasts as she undid his
breeches and drew out his manhood. She closed her eyes and took him
into her mouth, and attended to him as he’d taught her.

“Oh, yes,” he said in that same quiet voice.
“This is why I married you. You certainly do some things right.” He
pinched her nipples again, hard enough to make her whine against
his skin. Then he shoved his cock deep in her mouth, so she gagged
and choked. When he withdrew, she gasped for air, licking his balls
and the base of his cock to compose herself. He laid back and let
her do it, emitting the occasional ragged growl. The untamed sound
resonated between her legs. She wished she could touch herself at
the same time she served him. She wished he would touch her too and
make her come.

He fisted his cock and guided it back to her
mouth, and thrust between her lips, even deeper this time. He was
so wide, so thick, she couldn’t breathe. She drew air through her
nose and nearly cried in relief when he thrust in her more
shallowly. She used her tongue to tease and entice him, and one of
her hands to stroke up and down his length. Her other hand delved
within her skirts, sneaking under her petticoat to find the part of
her that ached for stimulation.

“What’s the matter, love?” he asked in lazy
amusement. “Is your pussy wet and empty? Do you want to be
fucked?”

He would make her admit it if she did not
admit it herself. She gazed up and said the words to him, rather
than be ordered to do so. “Yes, Sir. I want to be fucked.”

“Perhaps I would rather spend in your mouth.”
He gripped her head and surged into her throat again. “Perhaps I’ll
avail myself of your arsehole.”

She coughed as he withdrew. “You said—only
when I was bad.”

He chuckled and released her. “So I did. And
you’ve been very good.” He hauled her up and bent her over the
table, between asparagus and potatoes and cream sauce. He gathered
up her skirts until she felt cool air on her bottom, and then he
delivered a brisk spank. “I want to take your arsehole, you know.
Right now, I want to be inside you there. It makes me cross that
you don’t deserve it. Not yet,” he said in a portentous voice.

He drove into her pussy instead, a careless,
pumping possession. The china rattled and the silverware jumped.
She feared a goblet would overturn and stain the tablecloth with
wine, but the heavy crystal stayed standing.

“It will take you all of a minute or two to
come off,” he said, squeezing her shoulders. “The food won’t even
be cold. All you need is a cock inside you. Isn’t that true,
darling?”

It was true, because of his rough voice and
his large hands, and the demanding way he forced her to his will.
It aroused her beyond bearing. He slapped her arse again and she
shuddered from the thrill of it, and the shame. The tablecloth
chafed her exposed nipples, but he wouldn’t let her up. He pounded
into her until her walls clenched around him, seeking that last bit
of stimulation she needed to find release.

“Not yet,” he said. “Wait for me.”

She laid her forehead against the tablecloth
with a moan of supplication, only to be spanked again, and fucked
harder. “Don’t be a spoiled duchess,” he chided. “You will wait for
your pleasure, or not have it at all.”

She scratched her fingertips against the
tablecloth, trying to hold off so he wouldn’t punish her. She
wanted to knock off all the plates in her frustration, but instead
she panted, and waited, trying to hover just at that tipping point
until he allowed her to come. The need increased to the point she
could barely stand it. “Please, please,” she begged as he surged
into her, hitting her perfect spot.

He grabbed her hips and drove in her to the
hilt. “Now,” he gasped. “Now you may come.” He held her shoulders
down against the table and that pressure and force was as thrilling
to her as anything else. Her legs gave way as her climax overtook
her. The goblet finally tipped, shattering and splashing wine upon
the table.

The duke pulled her up and away from the
jagged pieces, supporting her from behind. He squeezed her breasts,
which spilled wantonly from her bodice. One more thrust and groan,
and he went still, dropping his head to her shoulder. After a
moment, he pressed a kiss against the curve of her neck.

“A minute and a half,” he whispered in her
ear. “That’s how long it would have taken you if I hadn’t made you
wait.”

“It’s not my fault,” she said. “It’s your
fault.”

“Don’t place blame. Kneel down and clean me
off so I can pull up my breeches.”

She gave him a pleading look, but he remained
firm.

“Do it,” he said. “You promised to be a
perfect and obedient duchess.”

She sighed and sank to her knees for the
second time, and applied herself to tidying his cock. He might have
let her use a napkin or something to do it, but no. Nothing would
satisfy him except that she perform the task with her mouth. And
she had learned to be quick, lest he become aroused and begin
things all over again.

“Now,” he said when she was finished, “stand
up and let me fix your gown. I’d be pleased to let you finish
dinner that way, but the servants would be dropping dishes left and
right.”

Her eyes went to the spilled wine and broken
goblet. When they were situated, and she was seated primly at her
place, he opened the door and the servants streamed in as if they
had been waiting in a line outside the entire time. They whisked
away the crystal fragments and covered the soiled part of the
tablecloth with extra napkins. The dinner plates were cleared away
to make room for dessert.

She stared down at the fruit tarts and
assortment of cheeses and then looked back at him. He’d just bent
her over the table and ravished her, and now he wanted her to take
dessert?

He waved a fork at her. “Eat, Guinevere. And
don’t frown so.”

“The thing is…” she said, cutting into the
tart, “I don’t think it’s fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“I must be a proper duchess at all times, but
you do not behave like a proper duke.”

“I made no promises to be a proper duke, did
I? Not like you.”

“You’re not a very nice person.” She narrowed
her eyes as she said this, even though he might punish her for it
later. “I think you play with me, and treat me like a toy, like
something to bat about for your amusement.”

“I do not bat you about.”

She glanced at the napkins piled atop the
stain. “Yes, you do.”

He ate for a moment, the fine Arlington
silverware sparkling in his long fingers. “If you do not wish to be
played with, Guinevere, then I suppose I will take my pleasure
tonight without bothering to arouse you as I normally do.” He gave
her a positively satanic smile.

She sucked in a breath. “You know that’s not
what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean? That you
do
enjoy when I play with you?”

This was a perfect example of being toyed
with, not that the duke cared. “You love to twist my words and make
me uneasy,” she said.

“And you love to paint me as your lewd and
heartless assailant. I can’t remember now what we ultimately
decided. Would you prefer to have pleasure tonight, or not?”

There was only one way to answer. “I would
prefer to have pleasure, Sir.”

“For your own amusement? Not only mine?”

She sighed. “Yes, Sir.”

“Please do not accuse me of being a villain
in order to assuage your own disordered feelings. We’ve spoken of
this before.”

His voice was light, cold, casual in its
evisceration. How hateful he could be. She made no response, only
took another bite of her tart so he would not see how he provoked
her, and swallowed hard when the delicious morsel stuck in her
throat.

Chapter
Ten: Perfectly Matched

The duke’s friends visited a couple days
later, since they had all arrived in town to spend the holidays:
the two marquesses, Lord Townsend and Lord Barrymore, and the Earl
of Warren, that ceaselessly cheerful man. This time they brought
their wives, who seemed eager to meet Gwen. She endured the
introductions with a sense of gloom. She was certain they would
find her wanting in some way.

Lord Townsend’s wife was named Aurelia, and
was the daughter of a duke. Gwen’s first thought was that Aurelia
would have made Arlington a better wife, except that she was
enamored of her towering, dark-haired husband. Lord Townsend seemed
enamored of her too, hovering around her with loving glances. The
Townsends’ daughter Felicity was back home napping, along with the
Warrens’ infant son George.

The other dark-haired man, Barrymore, was
married to Minette, who was apparently Warren’s sister, and Warren
was married to Josephine, a countess with lavish auburn hair and
the occasional spark of mischief in her eyes. The three ladies
seemed to know one another quite well, and kept up a steady stream
of conversation as they sat at tea on the terrace. Below them, the
gentlemen romped in the chill air, playing a loosely organized game
of cricket.

“Look at them,” said Aurelia, pulling her
cloak closer around her. “The older they get, the more they behave
like boys.”

The other ladies laughed. “I think they’re
only happy to be together again,” said Minette. “My husband always
worried that marriage and children would put a strain on their
friendship, or end it altogether.”

“Your marriage to Barrymore nearly
did
end it altogether,” Josephine said with an unladylike snort.
“Warren spent more than one night pacing and cursing August’s
name.”

Gwen listened to all this in confusion. “I’m
sorry, but who is August?”

“Barrymore was Lord Augustine before his
father died,” Josephine explained. “We called him August, and
Warren was bound and determined that he would not marry his sister,
even though Minette had adored him for years. But now they’re Lord
and Lady Barrymore, and they’re going to have their first baby in
the spring, so everything worked out for the best.”

“Congratulations,” Gwen said to Minette. “You
must be very excited.”

“You’re finally starting to show, dear,” said
Aurelia, “even beneath all those skirts and petticoats, and winter
capes and cloaks.” The honey-haired lady smiled, and again pulled
her cloak closer about her.

Minette studied her friend. “Do you have
something to share with us, Aurelia? Townsend’s barely left you
alone all day, and you keep wrapping that cloak around you as if
you’re hiding something. Not only that, but you look a little
green.”

“Are you not well?” Gwen asked. “Can I get
you something? A tonic?”

“She’s well enough,” said Minette with a
grin. “Except that she’s expecting again.”

“Oh, are you?” Josephine clapped her
hands.

“It’s very early,” said Aurelia, blushing.
“But I might be. Townsend thinks so.”

The lady practically glowed with happiness.
She was living the life Gwen longed for. She was in love, and
obviously loved by her husband. She was pretty and refined, and
would doubtless give birth to a steady stream of pretty, refined
babies as her husband doted upon how perfect she was. Gwen hated
Aurelia a little bit.

The men gave a shout, so the ladies turned to
watch them tumble in the grass. Arlington came up with the ball,
and the others chased after him, trying to tackle him.

“What game are they playing now?” Josephine
asked.

“Some variation of beating each other up. The
same game they’ve played for as long as I can remember,” said
Minette. “Arlington usually wins.”

“He was always best at everything,” Aurelia
agreed. “I don’t think it ever bothered my husband. They all
conceded his greatness from a very young age. I imagine he makes a
fine sort of husband.”