Desired by the Duke: An Age Play Romance
Page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
DESIRED BY THE DUKE
Lucy Wild
“I am not innocent,” she said, stamping her foot and folding her arms a moment later. “I have seen more things than you realise.”
She continued to scowl as she climbed onto his lap and laid herself down, glancing back over her shoulder. “See.”
“We will see,” he replied, reaching down and lifting the hem of her dress to reveal her silk knickers. “Are you ready for your punishment?”
“Yes, papa,” she replied, still looking straight into his eyes.
“Good,” he said, grabbing the waistband of her knickers and yanking them down to her ankles in a single firm motion.
Lucy Wild grew up in Yorkshire, England before becoming a college English teacher. In her spare time she began writing romantic fiction for fun, finally publishing her first book in 2012. She writes what she loves, Regency and Victorian romance featuring dominant lords spanking submissive but feisty ladies. She even includes an occasional dash of age play in some of her books. Lucy lives with her partner and their border collie on the North York Moors, a location that continually inspires and influences her writing.
Recent titles by the same author:
LITTLE FAITH
LAURA
CAPTURED
EDUCATING EVA
Praise for Lucy Wild’s writing
‘Lucy Wild knows how to paint vivid pictures in our minds, transporting us to a bygone era where manners and punishment are intertwined. I was literally sweating from reading some of the scenes in this book (and I live in Denver), and that was due to the drama AND the erotic scenes. This is simply a timeless story that will keep you very interested, especially if you are a history buff like me. Highly recommended!’
– Review of The Little
‘Beautiful story with a nice happy ending (I’m a sucker for happy endings!) A Victorian prim and proper woman gets her comeuppance over the knee of the hero, perfect for curling up to read by the fireside.’
– Review of Laura
‘Very well written and EXTREMELY sexy. There’s SO MUCH lingering anticipation and teasing that you’re literally trembling by the time you get to the good bits.’
– Review of Little Faith
All characters in this book exist only in the imagination of the author and bear no relation to anyone with the same name or names. They are in no way inspired by any individual and all incidents within are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part. Excepting in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, stored, or distributed without the express permission of the author.
This book is intended for mature audiences and may contain explicit language and scenes which some readers may find disturbing.
© Copyright 2016 Lucy Wild
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DESIRED BY THE DUKE
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Also by the Same Author
Lucy Wild
Bonus Story
Prologue
Eleanor lay crouched under her bed in the nursery, her hands clamped over her ears to block it all out. The noise from downstairs was deafening. There was an enormous bang followed by the shattering of glass somewhere in the orchard wing. She pressed her palms harder against the sides of her head, wishing the noise would stop, wishing that her parents would come and get her and make it all okay again.
Ten minutes earlier, she had been sat cross legged on the nursery floor with her governess, making the first tentative attempt at the letter A with a pencil. “Very good,” Miss Eyre had told her as she concentrated harder than she ever had in her first three years of life. She gripped the pencil so tightly her knuckles were white, her tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth as she rounded the dotted curve marked out on the paper ready for her. “Loosen your grip, try and relax.”
She was just moving down the page to attempt to draw a B when the door to the nursery burst open and her father ran in. Immediately, Eleanor wanted to cry. Father never ran anywhere. He always walked at a sedate pace, his hands clasped behind his back, a perpetual smile on his face. But he was not smiling nor gentle as he crouched down before Eleanor, glancing between her and Miss Eyre. “You must hide,” he said, his eyes wide with sheer terror. “Now!”
Eleanor glanced down at his hand. He was holding something she did not recognise. It was a strange looking thing. “What’s that?”
“No questions,” he said, pulling her up to her feet with his free hand. “Miss Eyre, get her under the bed and make sure she stays there until I return.”
“My Lord,” Miss Eyre replied with a nod. “Come, Eleanor. We will finish your alphabet presently.”
Eleanor was bundled under the bed and made to promise she would stay there. She had done as asked without complaint, seeing the fear in Miss Eyre’s face as she crouched beside her underneath the bed. For ten minutes they lay there together, listening in silence for whatever it was that had scared her father so.
“Is it safe to get out yet?” Eleanor whispered. “I don’t like it under here.”
“Nonsense,” Miss Eyre smiled. “Pretend you’re hiding from pirates.”
“Don’t like pirates.”
“That’s why we’re hiding.”
Another five minutes passed without a sound. “Need the toilet,” Eleanor whispered.
Miss Eyre turned to look at her. “You stay here,” she whispered back. “I’ll go and see if it’s safe. “Don’t move. Promise?”
“Promise,” Eleanor replied, watching as Miss Eyre climbed out from under the bed and tiptoed over to the door. She turned and smiled at Eleanor and as she did so there was an almighty bang from somewhere out on the landing. Miss Eyre suddenly slid sideways against the doorframe, slumping slowly down to the ground with dark red liquid trickling down the side of her face. Eleanor gasped as the sight. “Miss Eyre,” she whispered as a figure appeared over her body in the doorway.
It was a man in a black coat. He was holding
an object in his hand that looked very similar to the one her father had been holding. Smoke rose from the rounded end of it in a gentle wisp. The man took a step into the room, ignoring the twitching Miss Eyre at his feet. He stood still for a moment, looking slowly around the room. Eleanor held her breath as he walked towards the bed. Eleanor shuffled backwards, closing her eyes in the hope it would help hide her from him. He did not look like a nice man.
She heard a scream from downstairs and opened her eyes to see the man twist and run from the room. That was when all hell broke loose. So many of those booming noises, the sound of shattering glass, one scream after another, Eleanor couldn’t bear it. She covered her ears and put her head down, her eyes tightly shut as she wished it would all just stop.
After an eternity, her wish finally came true. The silence was deafening after such noise. She opened her eyes tentatively, glancing around her and hoping the man had not come back. Miss Eyre remained where she had fallen, she had not moved an inch. With trembling fingers, Eleanor edged out from under the bed, ready to dart back underneath at the slightest sound. She couldn’t hide any longer. She had to get to the chamberpot. She was just standing up when she heard the creak of a floorboard, followed by another. Someone was walking upstairs. Someone was walking slowly. Father walked slowly. Father was finally coming to rescue her. Eleanor grinned with relief as she made her way across the room towards Miss Eyre. The footsteps grew nearer. Another step and father would be here. She held her arms out ready for him to pick her up as from the landing a dark shadow fell across her tiny form.
Chapter 1
Eleanor bolted upright in bed, her eyes wide open. The dream again. Looking across at the shutters, she could see a bright light between them. Had she overslept again? Someone knocked on her bedroom door and she jumped in fright, the dream still fogging her mind.
“Eleanor,” her uncle’s voice came muffled through to her. “Are you still in bed? The Marquis will be here soon.”
“I am awake,” she called back, rubbing her eyes as she did so, adding, “Though I wish I weren’t,” under her breath as the bedroom door opened. An obscene amount of light entered the room along with her uncle and her personal maid.
“Get up, slugabed,” her uncle said, turning his back on her once he saw her still in her nightshirt. “To think you are still in your bedclothes at this hour. Your aunt and I have already breakfasted and ridden out to Normanby and back.”
“I did not sleep well, uncle,” Eleanor replied as she climbed out of bed.
“That is no excuse. The Marquis will not want you yawning throughout your meeting. You are supposed to be making a good impression.”
“Yes, uncle.” Eleanor knew better than to debate with him. It was impossible to reason with the man. His obsession with the Marquis overrode any rational thoughts within his mind.
Eleanor walked behind the screen in the corner of the room, dressing with the help of her maid. “Is this a new one?” she asked, looking down at the yards of fabric gradually enveloping her.
“The dress? Why, yes it is. I thought you would want to look your best for your meeting. If this goes well, you will be engaged to the Marquis of Runswick. First impressions mean everything.”
Eleanor sighed loudly. It was not a first impression. She had met the Marquis on several occasions, turning down his advances every time. Yet still he persisted, bypassing seeking her favour by going directly to her uncle. It had worked. The arranged meeting between her and the Marquis with aunt and uncle watching every move was about to happen and it was going to be awful.
By noon, her uncle was running about like an overexcited toddler, snapping at the staff, brushing the statues with a cloth, straightening portraits on the wall, even rearranging the flowers on the table in the reception room he had chosen for the meeting. “You would make a good florist,” Eleanor said as she watched him from the doorway.
“I do not know why we have servants if I have to do everything myself,” he replied. “I asked for a display to match his crest and what do they give me? Roses and these bits of weed.”
“Calm down, uncle,” Eleanor said. “He is unlikely to notice the flowers if my bosom is in the same room.”
The last time she had seen the Marquis, his eyes had been fixed on her cleavage, moving upwards only once before returning to their usual position. He was not even subtle about it. Her aunt had told her it was a sign he was thinking of creating a family with her. Eleanor knew better. If only she felt a spark of liking for the man, it might have been easier. But from his sallow skin to his limp smile and his supercilious manner, he was an impossible man to like.
The sound of the bell ringing in the hallway made her uncle look up from the flowers with panic in his eyes. “He is early,” he squawked, almost running into the hall. Eleanor followed just as the front door was opened to reveal not the Marquis but someone quite different.
“No, no, no,” her uncle said, shaking his head. “Today is not the day. Off with you.”
“Uncle,” Eleanor replied, walking towards the door. “That is not the way to talk to one of my closet friends, is it now?”
“Closest friend? A boy? Oh, I swear you are attempting to make me faint dead away, I cannot cope with any of it. Off with you, William, we have no time for you today.”
“Uncle!” Eleanor snapped, pushing past him to reach the doorstep. “Good day, William. Come, we will walk outside before uncle melts into a puddle of anxiety before us.”
“Be back before one!” her uncle shouted after her as she stepped out into the sunshine, Duke Bailey of Ryedale by her side, doing his best not to laugh. “And do not get dew on that dress.”
“What happens at one?” William asked as they strolled along the gravelled path towards the rose garden.
Eleanor sighed. “My life ends.”
William frowned. “You know the exact time of your demise? That’s quite the skill. Do you know when my life is to end by any chance?”
“In under a minute if you do not stop mocking me.”
William bowed theatrically. “I exist to entertain.”
“You exist to drive me insane.”
Passing through the gate into the rose garden, William paused, sniffing one of the flowers before sneezing loudly. “Think I inhaled a caterpillar.”
Eleanor smiled for the first time that day. “You know how to cheer me up.”
“By devouring insects? Do not cry then, I’d hate to have to eat a mouse for your benefit.”
“A mouse is not an insect.”
“Correct, those hours of classes with your governess were clearly not wasted.”
A flicker of sadness crossed over Eleanor’s eyes. A memory of her early childhood came unbidden to her mind. The dream of last night returned to her a moment later. Poor Miss Eyre.
“What is the matter?” William asked, pointing to the stone bench besides the pond. “Come, sit with me a spell.”
Eleanor sat and watched the fish sluggishly moving in and out of the lilies, the sun reflecting off the surface of the water. “Do you ever feel that someone else is in charge of your life?” she asked at last.
“All the time. The life of a Duke is not his own.”
“Yet you are able to come and visit me when you like.”
“I did not know when I might have another chance. Once you are engaged, I doubt I will be as free to impose on your hospitality without your fiance’s approval.”
“You heard, then?”
“Did you expect to keep it quiet? Eleanor Risby engaged to the Marquis of Greasy Hair and Hook Nose.”
“It’s not funny, William.”
“I am not laughing.”
Eleanor turned and looked at him. Why could he not have proposed to her? He was everything the Marquis was not. Handsome, witty, caring, interested in her and not just her body. But he had never shown a sign of love beyond that of a friend. He clearly saw her as a sister, not a potential wife. “How long have we known each other?” she asked, realising
she had been staring at him.
“Twenty years or so,” he replied. “Since before the…” He trailed off into silence. “I apologise, I did not mean to remind you.”
“I had that dream again last night.” She felt tears welling up inside her. “Oh, William. I do not think I can marry him. He is the most awful man.”
William took her hands in his. “Then do not marry him.”
She pulled her hands away, her gaze moving to the pond once more. “I do not have a choice.”
Chapter 2
William could not believe it when he first heard the news of Eleanor’s upcoming engagement. “You are not serious?” he asked, raising his eyebrows slowly. “Tell me you are not serious.”
From across the table at the club, Reginald nodded whilst tamping down his pipe. “Afraid so, old boy. She is to marry the Marquis, all arranged and organised and all that.”
“If this is a joke at my expense, I do not find it amusing, Reginald.”
“No joke. Eleanor Risby is entertaining the Marquis of Runswick this Friday and I have it from a very reliable source that he will leave her house betrothed and no doubt ecstatic about getting his grubby mitts on her at last. I mean, how long has he been after her? Four years? Five?”
William stopped listening. The man who had swindled his family out of half of their estate, the man who had beaten one of his horses so severely it did not survive a week, the man with less charisma than a dead frog. He was to marry beautiful Eleanor. It could not be true.”