Her Mystery Duke

by Blackthorne, Natasha

  Jeanne stroked his hair. He put a hand on her hip and hugged it. Gradually, his body went limp and his breathing became deep, regular. She held very still. Right now, she wanted these moments to last forever.

  * * * *

  David awoke with the most painfully hard erection he’d had in well over fifteen years. He was sure of it.

  Jeanne lay beside him, on her back, her face wholly relaxed and very young looking in sleep. Her lush breasts with their pretty little pink nipples rose and fell with her even breathing.

  He wanted her softness beneath him and to sink his cock into the tight wet rings of her cunt. And he didn’t want to wait. He would have her now.

  He touched her shoulder and shook her slightly. “Jeanne.”

  Her eyelids fluttered open. In the morning light, her eyes were clear, bright pools of blue. A lazy smile curved her sensual mouth. “You want to fuck me, David?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughed, the sound both soft and wicked at the same time as her fingertips tickled slowly down his front. His abdominal muscles tightened agonizingly. Inch by inch, she teased him. He sucked his breath in and held it

  She grasped his erection.

  A pulse of painful need surged from the base of his spine through his shaft. God, he could bear no more. He locked his hand about her wrist and pulled her hand away. Then he took her other wrist and raised her arms over her head.

  Her gaze became heated. She licked her lips.

  He took both her wrists in his left hand then used his right to guide his cock to her entrance. He thrust into her, sinking deep into her softness whilst losing himself in those eyes as blue and wide as the sky.

  With each increasing heartbeat, urgent need pulsed from his balls through his shaft. He leaked profusely.

  God help him not to come too quickly.

  His cock swelled and lengthened until it seemed stiffer than steel. He let go her wrists and grasped her hips and thrust into her. Over and over. His heart thundered with such intensity that it seemed to want to leap from his chest. The pounding beat drummed in his ears and pulsated in his rod.

  Above the roaring in his ears, he could vaguely hear her pleading. Moaning.

  “Embrace me…with your legs.” He could barely speak between pants for breath.

  She wrapped him with her limbs. Tightly.

  “Higher.”

  She wrapped those soft yet youthfully firm thighs high on his body. He drove deeper into her heated, velvet wetness. Her walls hugged him tighter and tighter.

  God, he had thought that he would never have her again. To be inside her like this, cods pressed to her cushiony mons and his cock’s head jammed against the mouth of her womb—

  Oh God.

  He thrust harder. Harder. Harder. He’d gone as deep as he could but he still wanted more from her. He’d never get enough of her. Never.

  With her hands, she clutched his shoulders as though she would never let go. Her whole body went taut. Then her magnificent teats quivered, a jerking, hitching movement as if she were convulsively catching her breath. Her slick, snug softness rippled about his shaft. Her lovely face froze then convulsed as if overcome by an agony of ecstasy.

  She screamed. Her nails sliced into his shoulders, fiery points of pain and bliss.

  Her cunt continued to ripple over his cock, a seductive milking that urged him to spill. Her moans teased him, promising the deepest, sweetest gratification. He caught himself pressing deeper, harder against the mouth of her womb, holding her hips more firmly, readying himself to spend deep inside.

  He jerked himself from her snug warmth, a bare instant before his seed erupted in furious surges of intense pleasure. His seed jetted all over her belly, her thighs and mons. He closed his eyes. The violent outpourings slowly ebbed into exquisite shudders of pure satisfaction that seemed to go soul deep.

  Damn!

  He’d never come so hard.

  David opened his eyes. She was covered with his seed. And God, she was gorgeous. He touched her cheek. “Jeanne…”

  She stared up at him, glassy eyed with the same satisfaction. Her pretty pink mouth curved into a smile. She was just begging to be kissed. But at the moment, he was panting desperately for each breath.

  He rolled off of her and onto his back. His mind spun with what had just happened.

  What had almost happened…

  Damn it. He had almost spilt inside her.

  Coming here had been a mistake. A lapse in good judgment caused by too much liquor and too many sleepless nights. Now he could see that he really just wanted an excuse to see her. It was the worst sort of self-indulgence. A total breakdown of all his self-control.

  He took the sheet and wiped the head of his cock. Then he arose. Good God, his clothes were spread over the floor, hopelessly wrinkled. It was already morning and yet he’d have to go home and change clothes. He kept a fresh jacket to exchange for his evening jacket at his office but he didn’t have any clean, pressed shirts there. He would be late for all his appointments.

  He didn’t like sudden, unplanned changes to his daily schedule.

  He began pulling the cold, wrinkled shirt on and then donned his pantaloons. It was too damned cold in here. The least he could do was light her hearth before he went. But when he walked to the tinderbox, he found only a few sticks.

  He looked up. Jeanne stood near the window, bathed in the gray, muted light of the overcast morning. “What’s this, Jeanne? Don’t you even have firewood?”

  She paused in the act of wiping herself with a linen towel. “There’s wood in there.”

  “It’s kindling.”

  “It shall take me through tonight, and tomorrow I expect to get paid for some of my stories.”

  “What about today?”

  She crawled back into her bed. Her golden hair fell over her shoulders in a swinging profusion of untamed curls. Her lush, pink tipped breasts bounced in a seductive show. A tug of lust pulsed through his cock at the sight. He could so easily lose himself for days with her. He had not felt like this about any woman for years. Maybe never. Definitely never. Not even Thérèse.

  The last thought left him shaken.

  Yes, he was that foolish over this girl.

  “I shan’t light the fire today.” She said this as if it were a perfectly viable option.

  He blew his breath and watched the vapor plume develop. “You can’t go without a fire.”

  “David, I am used to it. I wear woolen clothes, extra socks.”

  “You weren’t dressing like that when I was here before.”

  “I spent extra firewood because the chamber needed to be warm for you. You were sick. But you paid me for that, remember?”

  “Yes, I do remember.” There was a tightening in his guts and all because he was thinking now about what would happen if she weren’t able to attain enough money from her stories for firewood. Would she freeze herself?

  Or would she find herself forced to lay with someone?

  The thought of her giving not only that luscious young body but also her sweetness of self to another filled him with a clammy nausea. He reached into his pockets and retrieved all the money he had on his person.

  Why didn’t he carry more money?

  He tossed the lot on the bed. The coins jangled and bounced upon the sheet.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s for you.”

  She scooped up the money and threw it at him. “Take it back!”

  He looked down at several coins spinning upon the floor. “What the devil, Jeanne? You’ve let men pay you before.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t want you to pay me for it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t.”

  He bent and retrieved the money then tossed it back to the mattress.

  She crossed her arms. “I won’t take it.”

  “Take it.”

  “I won’t be your whore.”

  “You’re not my whore. We’re lover
s and I gave you a gift.”

  She was staring at the money. She looked so sad. “I am at a very low ebb.”

  “I can see that, Jeanne. Hence my gift.”

  “I have been trying not to rely on men.”

  “It is a hard world for a young, unmarried woman.”

  Her eyes were wide, focused on the money as if she were transfixed. She compressed her lips. “I don’t like being cold. I don’t like when my skin itches and I cannot stop shivering. I do not like stale bread and old cheese.”

  He walked to the bed and cupped her face. God, he adored her face. Had there ever been a more perfectly pretty girl? Her face should be painted and captured for all time. If she were truly his, he would carry her miniature inside his pocket watch. Then her likeness could sweeten the sourest of his days.

  She looked up at him. “Don’t be so proud, not with me. Take the money. Buy yourself firewood and food.”

  “I may soon get an advance from my publisher. If he likes the last story I wrote then he will publish the lot of my completed stories into a leather-bound volume. He said he would give me an advance.”

  “Well, then, take my gift and let it make do until you get your advance.”

  “Papa’s doctor meant well, but he was wrong. I am meant for more than simply serving men’s carnal needs.”

  Savage emotion raged through his blood. He wished there was some way that the blackguard could be killed all over again.

  “Of course he was wrong.” She wasn’t meant to be a whore. She’d been made to cherish.

  Her large blue eyes were killing him. Just killing him inside. He wanted more than just to provide for her and to protect her. He wanted her.

  He had to leave. Now. Or he would never leave without her. He stroked her cheek then walked away and gathered the remainder of his clothes. Pulled his waistcoat and jacket on without stopping to button them. Then he picked up his greatcoat.

  And he walked out of her life.

  Chapter Seven

  “These new stories are exceptional.” Mr. Ratherford stared over his spectacles, his pleasant, round face bland.

  Jeanne refolded her hands upon her lap. Just a moment ago, he had been staring at her so strangely. As though he’d were picking her apart, looking for some flaw upon which to base a rejection. She’d been grateful for her gloves, which hid her ink-smudged fingers. Perhaps it was just the effect of his spending so much time in this office. The chamber contained several sticks of plain but relatively new furniture and was painted in a grayish sort of green that had always made her feel a bit sad.

  And she’d lost much sleep lately from writing.

  Mr. Ratherford’s normally flat, brown eyes brightened. “I enjoyed all your stories but this one has something special. If you continue to develop your talents in this manner, your future will be bright indeed.”

  Nothing could make her feel sad now. All her tension melted away in the wake of such happy news. She couldn’t help smiling.

  Mr. Ratherford laid the stack of pages upon his desk. “If you can give me seven more stories, just like these, then we shall have to draw up another contract for an additional leather-bound volume.” He opened his desk and pulled out a document. “I have the contract for the first volume here. If you sign today, we can move forward with all due speed.”

  She folded her hands a little tighter and a small smile tugged at her mouth.

  “Does that please you, Miss Darling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then, let us see to the signing, shall we?”

  She read through the contract and signed. When she was done, her gloves were soaked through with sweat.

  “I say this calls for a celebration, does it not?” Mr. Ratherford said.

  Pleasure pressed on her throat, rendering her incapable of speaking. Jeanne fancied that she just might be walking on air instead of sitting.

  The back of her neck prickled. She looked up and caught him studying her so intently that once again he appeared to be picking her apart. As if she were under suspicion. She’d been smiling this whole time and now that smile faltered a bit. “Mr. Ratherford, is there something wrong?”

  “Miss Darling, I would like to escort you to the theatre.”

  Shock washed over her, all bubbly and joyful, like the champagne Bernard had once given her. Would she like to go to the theatre? Was Ratherford jesting? She’d only been to the theatre a handful of times with Bernard. The experience still held magic for her. Thankfully Bernard hadn’t asked her to return the evening gown he’d gifted her with. It had seemed silly not to sell it but now she was exceedingly glad she hadn’t.

  “I would be quite honored, Mr. Ratherford.”

  “This evening I shall pick you up in my carriage. I’ll also give you a little advance at that time for these new stories.”

  * * * *

  Seated in the Drury Lane Theatre, Jeanne took out her opera glasses. They were secondhand, old fashioned, tarnished. But they worked. Bernard sometimes rented or borrowed a box but tonight she and Mr. Ratherford sat with the common folk. It surprised her that Bernard had more resources available to him than Ratherford did, but she didn’t mind. Sitting down here was a different experience and one she was enjoying because it gave her a better vantage point to observe others. These were the best moments, before the performance began.

  She scanned the grand theater boxes, her gaze drinking in all the color, the various faces and forms. She listened to the hushed rumble of voices of the elegant people who occupied them.

  A tall man with a high, broad forehead, long, elegant nose, sharply hewn cheekbones, and hair as black as midnight, made her freeze. A thrill passed through her insides and she sucked in her breath.

  Oh, goodness.

  David.

  His box was filled with gentlemen. And one woman who sat at David‘s side, casually touching his arm and leaning close to whisper in his ear. She was dressed in an expensive-looking gown with glittering earbobs and necklace. She was tall, voluptuous in the right way, with full but not too large breasts, and a waist which a man’s hands could easily span. Not a plump little plum like Jeanne.

  Something like pain knifed through Jeanne’s chest.

  Only it couldn’t be pain because it didn’t matter in the least how David spent his time or with whom. Despite the pleasures they had shared, he was really still just a stranger. Their time together was over.

  He looked up. His gaze seemed to lock with hers. But of course, she was holding opera glasses. He would not be able to see her as clearly. She was just another face framed by golden hair in a sea of faces.

  “I daresay Hartley is a little too high for a trollop like you to aim for.” Mr. Ratherford’s tone was quiet. Deadly.

  Gooseflesh rose all over her body, especially at the back of her neck. With suddenly shaking hands, she lowered the glasses to her lap. “What?”

  “Don’t act as though you don’t know.” Ratherford’s cold tone couldn’t penetrate her confusion.

  She turned to Ratherford. He was glaring at her.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “What, indeed?” He took her arm. Roughly. “We’re leaving.”

  “Leaving?”

  “Quit acting as though you don’t know what this is about.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  He jerked her arm as he jolted to his feet. She resisted. He leaned back down and gave her a harsh shake.

  “Mr. Ratherford, please.”

  “Come, don’t make a scene.”

  People were staring.

  “I’ll say you are a harlot I picked up and that now you’re picking my pockets.”

  She slowly stood. He took her arm and she had no choice but to allow him to lead her out of the theatre and into the lobby. Once they had collected their wraps and put them on, he turned to her.

  “You want to play the whore?” Ratherford whispered, again in deadly tones.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Here, loo
k at this and then look me in the eyes and pretend you still don’t know.”

  He reached into his pocket and shoved a folded paper at her. “They have papered all of London with these.”

  With shaking hands, she unfolded the paper. It was a crude, colorful depiction of a coffee shop. A cartoon. More attention to detail was paid to the tall, dark haired man and a short, very plump blonde girl.

  A certain truant duke plays with a harlot whilst his sudden absence from the House of Lords on the day of an important vote remains a mystery.

  The Duke of Hartley!

  David was a…duke.

  A duke.

  Good God.

  She glanced back at the cartoon. There were two sheets. Her heart rose to her throat as she slipped the bottom sheet into view. It was a nighttime scene. Light spilled from a carriage’s window and illuminated a shoddy, old building that greatly resembled her boarding house. The gutters flowed with brownish muck and several disreputable looking men and women lounged about. One beggar was reliving himself and a huge rat-like creature grinned in the foreground.

  The truant duke keeps his harlot in style on Wentworth Street, Whitechapel.

  “I didn’t want to believe it was actually you.” Ratherford took a deep breath. “After all there are scores of women who must easily resemble the cartoon. But that building, the exact street number of your boarding house. Still, I just didn’t want to believe it, so I brought you here tonight, as I had planned to before. I hoped he would be here. And your reaction told me all.”

  What could she say? What did he want to hear? Why should he even care if she bedded a duke here or there?

  “I thought you were better. I thought you had simply been forced into an unworthy situation. I thought you wanted to become something decent. I wanted to help you.” He leaned closer. “I wanted you.”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “You were my investment.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Our association is over, Jeanne. You shall have to find another publisher.” He grasped her reticule, jerked it open and took the bills then threw the bag to the ground.

  “What are you doing?”