by Celia Strapp
‘Sorry, sir,’ I said, curtseying again.
‘I’d like you to stand where you are, and strip for me,’ he said, his eyes running down the length of me now.
‘Sorry, sir?’ not quite understanding him, or wondering whether I’d misheard his remark.
‘I want you to remove those revolting clothes,’ he said. ‘You will be given different clothes to wear, in due course. But I want to be quite satisfied, for now, that what lies under the clothes is…. well, less putrid, to be quite frank.’
I felt my cheeks redden and felt my heart thumping, hoping that he wasn’t so disgusted with me that I’d be sent back to the orphanage. I couldn’t be sent back now, not now I’d come this far! It’d be like returning to prison!
The Duke reached for a decanter on his desk, and slowly poured himself a glass of something dark and sticky-looking. ‘Hop to it then, girl,’ he said, casting me a dirty look. ‘I haven’t got all day.’
I looked down at my garments, which were in fact the nicest ones I’d ever worn, though I knew them to be ugly nonetheless. I was terribly afraid of removing them. No man nor boy had ever seen me without my clothes – not since I was a young scallywag, running about on the ship in my youth. I had no idea whether my body parts were even… pleasing to a man. Though I had seen Madame Nettlesford looking me over in a strange sort of way over the last couple of years when I bathed, but I suppose that could have meant anything.
‘Get on with it,’ urged the Duke, impatient.
‘Yes, sir,’ I said, my fingers trembling, as I reached down for the hem of my garment, and then, fearfully, lifted it over my head.
‘The petticoat too,’ said the Duke.
The petticoat, if you could even call it that, resembled nothing grander than a sack, if I’m being honest, but still, it was a wrench to take that off too, for I was completely naked under that! We couldn’t afford vests and fancy undergarments where I was from!
I took a deep breath, and then lifted off the petticoat, and then stood there shivering, in the Duke of Bedfordshire’s study.
The Duke fidgeted in his seat for a moment. His eyes widened, then he leaned forwards, and then backwards, and then whistled, his eyes fixed on my chest. ‘Quite the specimen, aren’t you, Anya?’ he said.
It was the first time he’d said my name, and the sound of it created a strange, low flutter in the pit of my stomach.
I felt his eyes sliding over my slight frame, over the pink rosebuds of my breasts, still developing, a little slowly for my age, truth be told. Then over my thin, flat stomach, not so round and full and comely as a larger woman like Mary might be. Then, most shocking and disturbing of all, I felt his eyes sliding down to that private part between my legs, covered in a soft, very thin down of wispy hair, most delicate and subtle, with two, soft pink lips poking out between them.
‘Turn around,’ said the Duke, after a while. I noticed a thin layer of sweat on his brow.
I did as he said, feeling his eyes sliding over my thin shoulder blades, my spine, my arse, and then he commanded me to turn back again, full circle.
I could hear him breathing more heavily now, and noticed that his hands had disappeared form the desk and fallen into his lap.
‘You’ll do quite nicely’ he said, breathlessly. ‘Now it’s time for you to be taken up to bed.’
Bed? I remember thinking. But it’s only the middle of the day!
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