Tutoring Miss Molly

by Armstrong, Lyn

  He opened a door to a yellow parlor room. Its grand furniture, upholstered in jade velvet and carved cherry wood, imparted warmth to the room. Molly could not resist touching the regal fabric to see if it felt as smooth as it looked.

  He indignantly sniffed behind her. “I will announce you to His Grace. Wait here,” he ordered as if she were a wayward child.

  Molly nodded and watched him close the doors behind him. Her hands trembled. She was about to meet a duke, a member of the royal family. A rumble came from her stomach and she clasped both arms around her waist. Having only eaten that morning, she wished she had brought provisions for her journey. Thinking of home brought her aunt to mind. She hoped she was well. With a sigh, Molly wondered not for the first time if she was making a mistake. Who would want a courtesan that was raised on a farm with little experience and rough hands?

  “I must succeed for the sake of Aunt Rose,” she uttered aloud, hoping the sound of her convictions would grant her courage.

  Biting her lip, she walked to the mantle and picked up a portrait of a dark-haired lady with a delicate oval face and thin mouth. Her green eyes appeared haunted, as if her soul were trapped beneath the fine white gown and sparkling jewels.

  A strange blaring noise came from outside and Molly ran to a large arched window. A huge gray animal with a long snout walked across the lawn. Never had she seen such a beast or heard its strange bellow. Evidently the duke was a man of unusual tastes.

  Molly’s interest swept over the lush landscape, admiring the beauty of the eastern gardens. A massive labyrinth with trimmed hedges stood boldly in the middle of the estate. Two women ran out of the maze entrance, laughing and cavorting. Molly pressed her forehead against the chilled glass pane for a closer look. To her astonishment, they were completely naked, their hair unbound. The ladies’ breasts bobbed uncontrollably as they ran around the edge of the maze.

  Were they hiding from someone?

  A naked man wearing only a top hat leaped out of the maze, his member jiggling between his thighs.

  Molly put her hand to her mouth and gulped. This was the first time she had seen a real naked man, and she could not take her eyes off his erection. A light stir swirled in her stomach. Her cheeks grew warm to the touch. She swallowed the lump in her throat and pressed her palms against the cool windowpane.

  “Where art thou, Goddesses?” the man called in the distance, his tone mischievous.

  Drawn to the sound of giggles, he dashed around the hedge to find the women huddled together. With a squeal of laughter, they jumped when he caught them with open arms. Kissing each one in turn, he lay down on the grass. “I am your slave, Goddesses. Do with me as you please.”

  One of the ladies lowered herself onto his engorged shaft while the other stood over his face. With a tantalizing sway, she straddled his face and caressed her breasts.

  The vapor from Molly’s breath fogged the window, and she quickly swiped it with her hand. A delicious tingle gathered at her moist core while her nipples hardened to sensitive peaks. Molly lightly brushed her hand across her breasts and took a sharp intake of air. She could not look away. The scene outside held her captivated, tantalizing her. Her body reacted with a desperate need to be touched. Absently, she slid her hand lower on the outside of her dress and pressed against her inner thighs. A cascade of sweet pleasure erupted from beneath her fingers. The tightening ache within became unbearable as she secretly spied upon the trio of lovers below.

  Chapter Two

  “I refuse!” Lord Devlin Harman stormed across his father’s upstairs library, bristling with indignation.

  “You will do it, Son, or there will be consequences.” Lord Richard Harman, Duke of Albany, rose from behind the mahogany desk.

  Devlin scowled at his father. The duke was fifty-two winters and showed little sign of aging. It irked him how alike he and his father looked. With the same thick, russet hair, pale gray eyes and tall physique, their stature overshadowed most men. When Harman men walk into a chamber, all stop and stare at them. It was little wonder how his father had become the rake of Harman Manor, providing sinful pleasures to exclusive guests. As the eldest son, Devlin benefited from the life of iniquity. When he was young—wine, women and pleasure were all he cared about. However, that was his youth. He had grown tired of the decadent and corrupt society that trampled through his home, year after year.

  “Why do I have to tutor this old spinster, what is her name?” Devlin tugged on the tight cravat around his neck.

  “Miss Molly Cambridge,” his father replied. “Because I promised her aunt I would educate her in the ways of seduction.”

  “Superb! Another manipulative courtesan.” He punctuated each word. “Just what we need around here.” Ignoring his father’s sneer, Devlin strode to the glass cabinet and poured a generous portion of whiskey. “I grow weary of scheming women exchanging pleasures for jewels or to gain a fashionable townhouse in London.”

  “You have grown weary of everyone,” his father said and waved his hand. “Our friends, our home…me.”

  He raised his gaze. “Not you, Father. Just this…this lifestyle.”

  “Then why do you not set a wedding date? I know Lady Audrey impatiently awaits the day you honor the betrothal contract.”

  “A contract you and her father made when we were children,” Devlin countered, unable to keep spite from his words.

  “Have you not found her suitable? She fits in well at the manor, ever eager to give and receive pleasure.”

  Shuffling to the window, his stare was pensive. “Perhaps I wish for a bride to be chaste and loyal. For her lips to touch only mine.” He turned to his father. “When I marry, I wish only to kiss my wife for the rest of my days.”

  Richard scoffed. “Do not be dull, my boy. It does not suit the Harman name.”

  He shook his head.

  His father placed his hand on Devlin’s shoulder. “I want an heir, and you will honor the betrothal contract.” Richard loudly cleared his throat as if the matter was resolved, and sat behind the desk. There was no point in discussing anything with his father when he made that grunting noise in his throat.

  “About Miss Molly.” His father wiped unseen dust off his table.

  Devlin grimaced, hoping he had diverted his father’s attention from the subject.

  “Do not give me that somber face, Dev. I want the lass to be the best courtesan this manor has ever seen.”

  “Why do you care what happens to a spinster?”

  Richard studied the back of his hands, a calm look settling in his eyes. “I used to love her aunt.” A wrinkle appeared on his forehead. “But I had a duty to marry your mother and it broke Rose’s heart.”

  He shook his head.

  “I regret how I treated Rose.” A look of tired sadness brushed over his features. “But I have the opportunity to make it up to her. Give her niece a chance at a better life. If you tutor her with your legendary expertise, all of society will gossip. Miss Molly will be a lady in high demand.”

  “I am sorry to spoil your plans, Father. I simple refuse to tutor the spinster.”

  Richard lowered his eyes, a devious smile crossing his lips. An ominous feeling burned in Devlin’s stomach along with the whiskey. He did not like it when his father grinned like that.

  Opening a carved wooden box on the desk, his father pulled out a cigar and flint box. “Do you know what society is saying?”

  Devlin rolled his eyes. “Do I care?”

  “They say the Marquess of Wilton is dashing by far in Parisian tailored suits, but when it comes to women his eyes are as cold as ice.”

  “That is not so,” Devlin scoffed. “My suits are from Italy.”

  A puff of smoke came from his father’s tight mouth. “I know you have been restless as of late. This lifestyle of decadence has left you…unsatisfied. By chance, what you need is a fresh young girl. Miss Molly—”

  “Is no longer fresh nor young. I questioned Joves before he left me with your su
mmons. She is past forty winters and has the look of a maid who resides in a pig pen.”

  “Our butler has a nasty disposition for a man of his station.” His father’s brow creased as he sucked on his cigar.

  A knock sounded at the door and a pretty servant with curly, golden hair entered. “You called for me, Your Grace?” she asked with a slight French accent.

  “Yes, Yvette, I have a need of your special talents.” Richard motioned for her to come closer.

  Yvette gave him a saucy wink and hastened to his father’s side. “How may I please you?”

  Pushing his oversize chair back, his father answered, “Why don't you use your imagination while you are under my desk?”

  Licking her smiling, pink lips, the servant crawled under the table.

  Shifting on his seat to give Yvette better access, Richard asked, “Where were we?”

  Devlin swallowed the rest of his drink and placed the crystal on the desk. “I am leaving.”

  “Son?”

  Devlin turned, suppressing his contempt with indifference. “What?”

  Richard’s eyes rolled upwards, his hands reaching for Yvette’s golden locks. “Slow down, my sweet, slow down.”

  “Father? You were saying,” Devlin urged, strumming his fingers on the door.

  “Ah, yes. Let us have an accord. A wager perhaps?”

  “I wish not to discuss this subject with your penis in Yvette’s mouth. Perhaps another—”

  “No, we will discuss it now.” His father gently pushed Yvette’s head away from his lap. “Stay there my lovely one. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  Doing up his breeches, Richard faced him and entwined his hands together on the desk. Devlin could almost see his father’s mind working to his own advantage.

  “If Miss Molly is the chosen courtesan for the mistress auction, I will break your betrothal contract with Lady Audrey.”

  Devlin’s mouth dropped open, a glimmer of hope catching in his throat. “And if the spinster cannot be tutored?”

  “Then you will honor the contract and marry Lady Audrey by spring.”

  “That’s blackmail!” Devlin fumed.

  “Blackmail is such a harsh word. I rather think of it as a family wager with benefits.”

  “Either way, you get what you want,” Devlin mused.

  “Yes, but if you succeed, you will be free to marry a dreary virgin in white—as long as she is of our noble station, of course.”

  Devlin snorted and strode to the door uncertain if he was better off or not.

  “I need an answer, my boy.”

  “I'll do it!”

  Chapter Three

  With one hand holding the portrait and the other pleasuring herself, Molly’s gaze locked on the erotic view of the three lovers outside the window. The glass steamed with her hot breath, blurring the vision of the ménage à trois. Molly tilted her head, oblivious to everything else. Her attention remained on how wonderful her moist flesh sent delicious ripples over her heated body. What would it be like to be one of those women who—

  The portrait was ripped out of her hand, and she jumped in fright.

  A stranger leaned over her with a dark, murderous look.

  Where did he come from?

  Backing against the windowsill, embarrassment and fear stirred within until she wanted to melt into the lush carpet. Sweet Mary, did he see her touching herself?

  “Do not handle this painting again,” he growled and roughly brushed a lock of bronze hair off his forehead.

  “I—I—”

  “You were probably about to steal it,” he accused and lingered over the portrait. Clearing his throat, he returned the frame to the mantle.

  Shock and anger dampened her arousal. “To what purpose would I steal a painting of a woman I do not even know?” She shoved her hands on her hips.

  His keen gray-blue eyes were like silver metal, coldly assessing her. Beneath his scowl, his square face and wide mouth was dark and foreboding.

  “To sell the frame,” he said in a low voice, thick with accusation.

  With an unladylike snort, Molly stepped closer and glimpsed at the portrait, “Who is she?”

  Silence answered. Was her question too impertinent?

  “She is my mother, Lady Ann.” He touched the frame with tenderness.

  “She is beautiful.”

  He glanced up at her statement. The pain etched within his pale eyes mirrored haunted memories. He ran a hand through his copper hair and studied her shrewdly. “My mother furnished this room. She said it afforded her great comfort.”

  “Your mother must be a fine lady.”

  “She was.” He sat on the sofa and crossed his legs with casual ease, his lips thinned. “But she hated me.”

  Shocked at the matter-of-fact statement, Molly stared at him. “Surely not.”

  She sat in the seat opposite the mysterious gentleman. Acutely aware of his virile physique, he commanded an air of sexual confidence and power. She’d wager a female would have no defense with her virtue against such overwhelming masculinity.

  He edged forward, a cynical twist to his mouth. “Do not concern yourself. Lady Ann despised everyone.”

  “How is it you are so sure she hates you?”

  No sooner did the words leave her mouth, Molly regretted them. Oh why can’t she control her curiosity? Boldness with personal questions had found Molly in many awkward situations. This one included.

  Molly squirmed in the heavy silence of the gentleman’s prickly glare. Coughing delicately, she wanted to change the subject when her surly companion interjected in a rich baritone. “She must have hated me. Why else would she kill herself?” he calmly replied, as if he conversed about the weather while strolling through Vauxhall Gardens.

  A myriad of emotions flitted through his eyes, and then a veil of disinterest fell into place. “I have been neglectful of my manners. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Marquess of Wilton, Lord Devlin Harman the Fifth. Since I have the honor of tutoring you, you now belong to me and will obey my command at all times.”

  The aristocrat studied Molly’s reaction, but she would not give him the advantage of knowing how her chest stung with irritation. She had never belonged to a man before, especially one so arrogant and self-assured. Molly schooled her features into a blank stare. She must brace herself for the scandalous life of a courtesan. If this was how it was going to start, then so be it.

  His brow furrowed with surprise. Was he disappointed she accepted his command?

  He cleared his throat. “The next full moon will hold the mistress auction where the courtesans are bid upon. This is your chance to show unique sexual skill before the more experienced guests. Once the auction is completed, the highest bidder will make love to you on stage...in front of everyone.” His gaze traveled the length of her body. “It is very prestigious for a courtesan to be chosen. If you are, your desirability as a superior mistress will be assured.”

  Devlin’s tone dropped and he leaned forward. “If you find this disagreeable, then by all means you may leave now.”

  “I have no disagreements,” Molly said, her voice firm.

  Devlin arched an eyebrow.

  “No, I suppose you would not.”

  An awkward silence filled the spacious chamber.

  He stared at her. Judging her…sizing her up, and no doubt found her unworthy. She knew she was no classic beauty. Her hair was too red, freckles covered her face from being out in the sun too long, and she did not want to think about her unusually tall height. Nevertheless, did he have to make her feel uncomfortable about it? Fidgeting with her hands, she shifted her gaze to look at anything besides the handsome marquess.

  He chuckled beneath his breath.

  Was he making fun of her discomfort?

  She shot him a scathing glare, challenging him. “Have you finished staring?”

  “No, not by far,” he answered and settled back into the chair, crossing one leg over his knee. “I thought you were o
lder…never mind.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You are in need of water and soap.”

  His probing gaze rested on her face.

  Sweet Mary, she just remembered she had not cleaned the soil stains from planting that morning. She resisted the need to cover her grimy face.

  Devlin rose from the chair. “Follow me.”

  Molly bent to gather the carpetbag and bonnet.

  “Leave them,” the marquess called over his shoulder while continuing to the door.

  Wiping her moist palms onto her skirt, she followed Devlin’s stiff posture. His nutmeg hair fell without interruption to his wide shoulders. It seemed his hair would not move unless his lordship dictated it. Molly lifted a loose strand of her messy thick hair, which despite her best efforts always managed to frizz.

  Frantically, she tried to pin the wayward strands into a wobbly bun while racing on the heels of the impatient lord. His long strides led them down a narrow hallway when suddenly he pivoted. Molly abruptly stopped, her hands still poking in her hair.

  “This way,” he said with annoyance.

  He opened a heavy oak door leading into an elaborate garden filled with red and yellow tulips. Magnificent statues of naked men and women posed in various sexual positions, their granite faces almost life-like. The brass lanterns threw shadows upon the statues while night sounds of a hooting owl and buzzing insects created a surreal atmosphere.

  Wishing she had more time to inspect the statues, Molly hastened her steps to keep pace with her tutor’s dogged march. From behind, she watched the way he glided with confidence while his black jacket pulled tightly across his straight back.

  Was he the man she saw with the dogs when she first arrived?

  She cocked her head to the side.

  It had to be him.

  His long powerful thighs propelled him through the thick white mist like a ship in the sea. Molly wondered what it would be like to run her fingers down the sinewy muscles starting from his neck to his firm buttocks, then sinking her teeth into the taught flesh of—