He finished stoking the fire and sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the flames.
“Geoffrey. Tell me about your father.”
“My father inherited the dukedom when he became of age. Being an only son, his boyhood years were spent in serious education. When he met my mother, he was ready to love completely. She was prepared to marry a wealthy man. They did, but even in my younger years there appeared to be little affection or intimacy between them.”
Geoffrey exhaled. “My father and I had a good relationship. At age twenty-four, I inherited the dukedom when he died of a heart attack. I have missed him ever since.” Geoffrey poured them both a brandy and handed Serena her glass. “My father would have adored you as I do. He appreciated a lusty woman. Pity, he didn’t marry one. I believe I take after him.”
He sloshed the liquor around the rim of his snifter and his eyes raked over her. “I never asked him, but I do believe after many years of marriage, he sought more agreeable company for his needs.” Geoffrey whispered, “My Serena, do you have any idea how you tempt me when you bare your breasts and recline on the bed in such a manner? You could pose for a nude picture which could hang in a prominent men’s pub or in Madame Odette’s brothel salon.”
“Did you intend the remark as a compliment, Geoffrey?”
“Yes.” He smirked. “Please do not take umbrage, my lady.” He turned to her and cocked his head. “It occurred to me that when we first met, your face was familiar. Now I remember why. There is a painting that hangs in the National Museum of the sister of the Sultan Murad III. It is a favorite portrait of mine. The two of you could be twins with your dark curls, high cheekbones and coal eyes. Her proper name was Sultana. From now on, I will call you my wanton Sultana. It will be our private secret. Would you like that?”
“Yes, Geoffrey. I would.”
His eyes devoured her body and his loins throbbed again. It was the vicious thought that this might be their last time—insidious passion, desire, and then gratification.
Geoffrey recognized the familiar look in her eyes, yet he enjoyed talking about his beloved father.
“Tell me more about him,” she urged.
He further unfolded his story. “Even though I have a reputation as a rake, my estates are well run. I hire the best managers and I am thorough with the accounts as my father taught me.”
He took a gulp from his glass, and then twirled its contents. “I do not feel my mother loved my father as he did her. He worshipped the ground she walked on, but do you know I never once saw them kiss or embrace.”
His breath deepened. “My mother never came into the schoolroom or spoke to my tutors, but my father spent a lot of time with me. One of the things I remember most is when he surprised me with a pony for my fifth birthday. He loved me to extravagance. As I got older, he taught me how to hunt and helped me purchase my first rifle. He taught me many things.”
“Such as?” Serena leaned forward, rested her chin in her palm.
“Knots. He taught me how to tie sailor knots, a favorite hobby of his. He would say, Geoffrey, my lad, there is much to learn. We shall start with simple things.” Of course, I had instructors, but he lavished his time on me.
“Did you resent the fact that your mother did not spend time with you?” Serena wondered.
“It disturbed me that she never wanted me in the first place. When as a young boy, I overheard her arguing with my father, she’d made it clear she married him for what he could provide. Her words were cruel when she stated she’d never wanted children, but complied to do her duty. She hated it when the pregnancy distorted her body.”
Geoffrey’s brow furrowed. He closed his eyes against the memory, enough to make his ardor wane. “I gave you an heir. There will be no more children,” were her exact words. She walked out of the room, saw me in the foyer, and brushed by me without mention, her expensive silk gown rustling in the silence like a death knell.”
“Dearest, it must have been painful. What did you do?” Serena reached for him.
Geoffrey went to her. “I ran to my father and gave him a hug. He saw my pain and tried to comfort me, but those words will haunt me forever.”
“He spoke softly. ‘My boy—my precious boy, we cannot always obtain what we treasure. Sometimes we make mistakes. Nonetheless, we must strive to rise above them. Remember this.’ It was then I vowed never to have love enslave or beggar me.”
“How old were you when your heart was torn so?”
“Eight, and from that day forward my relationship with my mother became as arctic as the Polar Regions. She did not care and continued with her frivolous lifestyle.” Geoffrey paused. “It occurs to me I have not told anyone about the incident—until you. I have shared this burden with you. I feel better already. Thank you for listening.”
“It all serves to know you better, my Geoffrey. I believe that is what a relationship is about.”
He walked to sit on the bed beside her, his legs locked underneath his large frame, his shaft relaxed and exposed in a most natural manner.
“Let me get my sketchbook. I want to draw you.” She rose, reached for the book on the shelf, and flipped to a blank page. Her fingers worked their magic with the charcoal. Within fifteen minutes, she had a good likeness of all his male body parts. She giggled as she took a small posy from a glass vase and settled it in his pubic curls.
“Would you have me look like a popinjay?” He removed the flower and cast it to the floor.
“It is not possible with you.” Her laugh was mischievous.
“Perhaps if you had sketched me when it saluted, it could be believable.”
“Your private parts should be displayed as a national treasure in the British Museum,” she teased.
“Do you think so? No one has ever spoken of this to me before.” His grin wicked, his pride assuaged.
“Perhaps the others were not connoisseurs of male anatomy?” Her eyes glistened with misbehavior.
He took the sketchbook away. “It is one thing to draw me but I desire to give you the real treasure.” He raised himself, his engorged member erect, the veins distended in purple hue. “Lick me.” His hands remained akimbo at his waist.
“The master has spoken.” She laughed in mirth.
Serena knelt before him and took his manhood into her mouth. She passed her tongue over the tip of its glistening shaft. His moan encouraged her to take it in further, and she suckled. Her hand caressed the base as she did so.
He groaned, closed his eyes. He picked her up and laid her on the bed. “I promised you all of me.” His body covered hers. He thrust into her wet core and penetrated deep. This time his lovemaking was slower, sensual, and echoed their mutual needs.
Her body vibrated and trembled when the wave of pleasure overtook her. “Oh, my love, take me. Take me now.”
She climaxed and he followed suit with a giant tremor.
They were in total communion with one another. More than pleasurable, more than imaginable, more than believable, they were one in mind, body and soul.
Serena relaxed in the sinewy muscles of his arms, while serenity blanketed over her.
They slept entwined for several hours. When the cold woke them, Geoffrey stoked the dwindling fire until its warmth permeated the room. He realized he was voracious for something to eat and foraged in the studio where he’s seen bread and jam on the table. He cut three slices, slathered on the red currant jam, and brought them to Serena on a linen towel. They still had a few hours left.
“The jam is fresh and Emma made the bread.” Serena arched her shoulders and took the sweet treat. He joined her on the bed. They left crumbs everywhere and shared a laugh as they brushed them away.
“I will leave you my London address. You will need it to let me know when the portraits are complete,” Geoffrey said. “Time grows short. My townhouse is off Grosvenor Square. I will be there for a month. Thereafter I leave for a tour of my estates. I will also give you the name of my majordomo. If you need me, contact hi
m.”
He held her hand. “Do not look so sad. Promise, if you need me, you will seek me.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Promise, Serena.”
“I promise.” She turned her face away. “Goodbyes are hard when there is no tomorrow in sight, but you gave me no illusions.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “My sadness will pass.”
“Come to me, dearest. Let me hold you and relish these last moments.”
He reached out to hold her. “I know you have declared that you cannot go away with me, and your reasons are just. Perhaps, I could kidnap you.” He spoke in jest, but he would act upon it if she gave him cause.
“You could, but you will not,” she answered. “I will be no man’s possession. I will share my life only as an equal. I will not be controlled. My lesson has been well learned, just as yours was with the difficulties between your parents. It will never happen again.”
Silence engulfed them. What more could be said?
Serena clung to Geoffrey’s chest. “Leave me something of yours to remember you by.”
“Such as?”
“It could be your cravat or your shirt. I need the scent of you to remain with me here. It is so distinct, your special flavor of masculinity, cloves and sandalwood.”
Other women had asked for jewelry, diamonds, or money, but no, she would ask for something so little, but which she valued. Geoffrey drew the covers around them and kissed the top of her head. They both fell asleep nestled in each other’s arms.
****
Serena awoke, glimpsed the empty pillow. Her sense of loss was like a fist to her stomach. Perhaps it was best there had been no formal goodbye. She couldn’t have endured the pain of seeing him walk away. The hole he left in her heart spread through her entire body like a crushing ocean wave sucking her into its fierce undercurrent. If ever a future could be as dark as a midnight starless sky, it was hers without Geoffrey. The man who took her demons away and made her whole had gone. The goodness and gentleness of his lovemaking evaporated into thin air as if it had never been. Geoffrey knew she wanted more—commitment of heart and soul. The words she longed to hear, I love you, he didn’t say.
Regardless of her promise to Geoffrey to make contact if she needed him, Serena was convinced their paths would never cross again. Bereft had never held such meaning as it did today. She gazed around the room they’d shared and recalled all the wondrous moments. Shadows clouded the images and the light vanished.
Oh, how the memories hurt.
To ease her pain, she went to her escritoire, retrieved a parchment and wrote a note to him—one that she would never have delivered. Setting the words on paper might help her wounded heart. She wrote the date to memorialize it.
March 15, 1817
Dearest,
I write this because you are gone. Lust is sinful—and wonderful. All of me, body and soul, ache for you. I was a good and chaste woman, and then I met you. Stolen moments and passionate lovemaking were my downfall.
There are always consequences for impure deeds, I learned. But would I do it all again?
Yes! For every woman should experience passion and lust once in a lifetime with a man who can make the sun shine, the moon glow, the flowers bloom and the birds sing with just the wondrous touch of his lips.
With the letter completed, she signed it, I love you, Your Wanton Sultana
She withdrew an envelope from the drawer and addressed it to him, writing only his first name. Serena searched for a hiding place and decided to tuck it behind his portrait adhering it with a wax seal. His eyes looked out to her from the picture.
She sighted her sketchbook on a table, and opened it. From his portrait she drew him on the right side of the page. She went to her bedroom, stood in front of the mirror, and sketched herself next to his likeness. From earlier sketches of Adonis, she inserted him between the two of them. Propose to me, Geoffrey. Will you? There could never be anyone after you. She wrote the words on the bottom of the page.
“I shall have grand dreams of our affair, my love. You did not discard me as an outcast lover, but you have left me empty,” she shouted to the empty room.
Despite the political or arranged marriages of the time, Serena wouldn’t settle for less than an ultimate commitment between herself and the man who could not live without her. Why could Geoffrey not share his future with her as his wife?
He had left her his cravat and shirt as she’d asked. She lifted them to her face. How the smell of him comforted. She put on his shirt, found it soothing and tied his cravat around her throat. His familiar clove scent pleased, calmed her, akin to a caress, a wanted touch, a balm to her wounded heart.
What would have happened if she had run away with him?
Henry would be furious and try to find her. She had some money but her brother oversaw her main trust.
Serena decided she’d been right not to settle for so little when she wanted much more from him. “Geoffrey, please see we are meant to be together,” she pleaded to the night air. “Return to me—marry me.” Serena spoke the words, but she knew they fell on deaf ears. She gazed upward toward the heavens and prayed.
Chapter Fifteen
Lord Geoffrey arrived at his London town house by mid-afternoon.
“Welcome, your Grace,” greeted Neville, the majordomo. “Your horse, my lord Duke?”
“My groom will bring him to the country estate at Brighton.”
“Very good. There is a note from your mother on the card tray. Do you wish to see it?”
“No. I do believe I know what the contents will be.” Geoffrey handed Neville his hat and gloves. “Is there anything of import of which you are aware?”
“No, as you instructed, I made notations on all your papers.” Neville laid his master’s belongings neatly on the side table. “Will you be dining in?”
“It won’t be necessary. In an hour or two, I will go to White’s Club and see what has transpired during my absence.”
In his study, Geoffrey found the efficient stacks of correspondence. He sat and addressed the work. He put his hand in his jacket pocket and his fingers caught a ribbon, Serena’s band, the one she wore the day she walloped him. A tender nostalgic smile crossed his face. He thought the results well worth the slap. The band held the scent of her perfume and when he closed his eyes, he envisioned her next to him.
His eyes flashed open—she vanished. He placed the ribbon in his right-hand desk drawer where he kept his most important things. There was a knock on his door. “Come.”
His personal valet entered. “Good morning, your Grace. I unpacked your luggage and found these items in various pockets.”
On the tray, Lord Geoffrey saw another ribbon of a different color, a barrette and a hairpin. More painful memories. He fondled each one and put them in his desk drawer with the other trinket. Dashed all to hell, he tried to concentrate, but she continued to haunt him.
“I will leave for my club in an hour or so. Please prepare my black swallowtail ensemble. That will be all.”
“Yes, your Grace.” The servant left the room.
Restlessness overtook him. He never knew the meaning of lonely—until Serena.
Geoffrey turned to face the portrait of his father that hung in prominence on the wall, the man people thought he resembled. “Father, I wish we would have spoken more about what attracted you to Mother. What were the qualities you saw that made you decide to marry her? Did you have regrets? Mother doesn’t want to speak of you. She says it is because it depresses her to know you are gone. She contents herself with an attempt to find me a future duchess.”
Geoffrey arose and stood in front of the portrait. “How can I trust her to find me a lovely wife, when she herself knows nothing of love? She doesn’t know what appeals to me in a woman. I like my women lusty, but mother’s choices are frigid like her.”
He checked his pocket watch with the heirloom grandfather long case clock, which stood guard in his study, then he ascended the steps. In the hallways, two more timepieces
chimed sequentially.
His valet saw to his bath and shaving needs. Pleased with his resplendent appearance reflected from the cheval mirror, he took his top hat, gloves, and walking stick and descended the stairs. “Have my coach driver pick me up at midnight at White’s,” he instructed the butler. “No need to wait for my return, Neville. I can take care of my night needs.”
Geoffrey entered the famed doors, and greeted his good friends, who hailed him over to join them at the gaming tables.
“You are back from the country and look refreshed. Did you enjoy the air?” Carleton, his best friend, clapped him on his back.
“Indeed I did.”
“Join us in a wager?” one of the men asked Geoffrey.
“No, I prefer not to gamble on games I cannot trust. I do not like to lose to anything.” He scanned the room full of gentlemen. “I see London has not changed much from the soot-ridden stacks which belch and defile the air.” He handed his hat and cane to a porter and ordered a brandy. “This is why I prefer my Brighton estate. I do believe I have been away from the city for almost three months.”
“Not a long time for anything to change, Geoffrey. However, I did miss your company.”
“No need to be polite, Carleton. I am not easily flattered, except by a good fellow like you. Know that I missed your company also, old chap.”
They laughed in companionable jest.
“We are going to the theater tomorrow to see a new actress, Jenny Gladstone. Her curvaceous body has enchanted the young bucks, although her acting leaves much to be desired. Care to come with us? It is still the place to be seen, at least for this part of the season.”
“I have just returned and there is much to do. I prefer simpler pleasures.” He grinned.
“Did you find such pleasures in the country?” Carleton smiled at his friend’s salacious expression.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I stumbled upon her in a knoll. I showed her my rakish talents and she smacked me. I believe there is still a slight bruise on my cheek.” He sipped the brandy and looked around finding himself almost bored with the clubs and their vices.
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