Mistress of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  He grinned, strangely enjoying the playful lilt in her voice. How did she do it? How did she so easily scoff at dire circumstances? It was indeed something to admire.

  “Your Grace.” A male servant held up a means of cleaning her. “Someone insisted the lady was in need of a basin and a towel.”

  Ah, yes. This is where they disappeared and finished off a bit of business in private. And perhaps a bit more. “Thank you.”

  Edmund grabbed the dry towel from the servant and draped it across his shoulder. Taking the small porcelain basin from the servant’s hands, Edmund turned and cocked his head toward the direction he wanted Maybelle to go. “Madam. If you please. The second door on your right. Before anyone sees you.”

  She gawked at him. “I would prefer one of your servants tend to my dress, Your Grace.”

  “What better servant than I, Madam?” He grinned. “Besides, you and I have yet to arrange a date and time for a rather important event.”

  She sighed, as if thoroughly exhausted, looked toward the dining hall and then at the servant, who was still watching them with rather large eyes. Without sparing him another glance, she gathered her skirts, set her chin, and breezed down the dim corridor toward the second door on the right.

  Edmund grinned at her duchess-like departure and followed her. When he reached the doorway of the room where she had disappeared into, he paused, and wondered if it was wise to proceed any farther. For there, in the middle of the study, away from all the activity that dwelled within the house, stood Maybelle. Waiting for him.

  The candles lighting the room made her pearl-strung golden hair and pale skin shimmer. The diamond necklace around her throat brightly winked at him, accentuating the soft curves of her throat.

  He shifted his jaw. This was fatal. It was as if he could not force himself to think rationally when in her presence. What was worse, he didn’t want to think rationally. It was unlike any lust he’d ever experienced in his life.

  He slowly entered the study, the only sound being that of the water whisking inside the porcelain basin. As he drew closer, their eyes met and the attraction he felt for her exploded. That familiar, glorious ache filled his groin.

  Pausing a few feet before her, he set the basin down on the wood floor and tried not to grab for her then and there. He stood. “Allow me to tend to our privacy first, as we have drawn more than enough attention to ourselves tonight.”

  With that, he turned, made his way back across the room, and shut the doors into one another, turning the key in its lock. As he withdrew the key, he turned and tucked it into his inner vest pocket. Her blue eyes watched him with a raw, sensual intensity he wanted. The sort of intensity he needed.

  “After we tend to your gown, we can finalize the details of our night.” He strode toward her.

  “Being locked in a room is not what I agreed to when I decided to meet you here.”

  He paused before the basin, half smiled, and waved her over. “If you promise to be a lady, I promise to be a gentleman.”

  “I am not a lady and you are not a gentleman,” she snapped.

  “If at any time you become concerned, Madam, you know where to find the key.” He patted the front of his vest pocket. “All you need do is fetch it.” He eyed her. “That is, if you care to wander that close.”

  She bit her bottom lip.

  “Do allow me to tend to your gown. It is the least I can do considering how the evening turned out.”

  “No. I would rather you not. You’ll ruin the silk.” She shifted from foot to foot, then sighed. “Let us simply get to the matter at hand. The matter you called me in here for.”

  “Of course.” He glanced toward the settee placed in the middle of the room and gestured toward it. “Shall we be seated?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” She hurried over to the sofa and set herself on the farthest end.

  Edmund ignored her obvious attempt to put space between them and decided to sit beside her. He blew out a breath, trying to release the tension in his body. Of course, the only reasonable way any man could release this amount of tension was by doing the obvious. Though he was not about to set a bad example.

  “So where is it to take place, Your Grace?” she finally asked, breaking the awkward silence. “The sooner we agree on the terms, the sooner I can leave.”

  If there was one thing he admired about Maybelle de Maitenon it was how she always seemed confident in whatever it was she was saying and doing. A confidence that even he, as a duke, lacked from time to time. “You decide the terms, Madam.”

  She was quiet for a long moment, then said matter-of-factly, “Your bed will more than suffice. Send word as to when and I will come to you.”

  Hearing those seductive words from her lips made his pulse throb and his blood warm. He turned to her, wanting to ask her what it was she really wanted out of a man, other than the emotional rubbish every woman expected, but paused upon noticing something on her neck, right above her diamond necklace.

  He leaned in, causing her to stiffen. “I believe a bit of wine spattered on your skin.” He grinned. “Or let us hope it is wine. I don’t think I sprayed blood when I removed Wharton from your person.”

  A laugh escaped her. She swiped at her neck and eyed him. “Is it gone?”

  He glanced at the skin beneath her necklace, which was still tinged with droplets of dried wine. “Uh…no.”

  She swiped at her skin again. “What about now?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Can you be trusted not to overstep your bounds?” With that, she tilted her head slightly, offering the length of her neck to him.

  Control yourself, man. You can do this. “Of course.”

  Edmund cleared his throat, removed his gloves, and set them aside. He then wet his finger with his tongue, leaned toward her, and dipped his moist finger into her skin, gently rubbing at the smidge of dried wine from the hollow of her neck.

  As her smooth, velvet skin heated his finger, he realized not only did he not want to stop touching her, but the bit of wine seemed to have stained her skin. He leaned closer in and rubbed at it one more time, trying to ignore the fact that he was still touching her. But it was like trying to convince a dog that it was a cat.

  Although she didn’t move beneath his touch, her chest seemed to rise and fall a bit more unsteadily, as if she were having difficulty breathing. Her pink lips parted ever so slightly as she stared ahead.

  Edmund paused, removing his finger from the warmth of her skin, but continued to hover over her, wondering if in fact she was as affected by his presence as he was by hers.

  He stared down at her moist lips and though he tried, hell how he tried, he could not refrain. Using his hand, he gently nudged her face more toward his direction, leaned down, and brushed his mouth against her soft, full lips.

  She closed her eyes, but otherwise did not move.

  He pulled his mouth away from hers and whispered hoarsely, “I thought you should know that I cannot be trusted anymore.”

  “Go on,” she breathed, her eyes still closed, and her warm breath coming in short, quick takes. “I will tell you when I have had enough.”

  Feeling as though his chest would explode from her seductive invitation, he lowered his face to hers and pressed his mouth more forcefully against hers, parting her lips. Their hot tongues met, gliding against one another, and in an instant his entire body hardened. His cock throbbed as it expanded, demanding he take her. He fought to remain in control and sucked on her tongue, pulling it into his own mouth.

  Maybelle leaned into him and slid her arms around his shoulders.

  It was all the encouragement a man needed.

  His bare hands rigidly traced her slim profile, moving from her soft shoulders to her back. He slid his lips down the side of her throat, savoring the sweet flavor of her smooth skin.

  “Yes,” she whispered, raking her gloved hands through his hair.

  Ed
mund leaned her farther back and slid off the sofa, kneeling completely before her. She watched him through heavy lids as he dragged her skirts up to her slim thighs, pushing her chemise up and out of the way with them. He trailed his hands up the entire length of her silken limbs, savoring every soft, warm inch of her.

  Her breaths were growing heavier, steadier.

  He raked his gaze across the length of her shapely stockinged legs. Stockings that were held in place by white lace garters. He paused at seeing the patch of tight blond curls nestled between her thighs. His breath hitched in his throat and his pulse thundered as he nudged her legs apart, realizing he’d never had a chance to really look at her. To really look at her.

  Her pink folds were lush, visibly wet and ready. And he had no intention of stopping this time. He gripped hold of her thighs and forced his mouth down onto her.

  She gasped and quivered against him as he suckled on her nub. The sweet taste of her wetness filled his mouth. Although the tip of his cock was beginning to bead in anticipation, he refused to settle for anything but her climax. He licked her and then sucked, licked her and then sucked, refusing to pause even for a moment.

  “Oh God,” she panted, reaching down and pulling him harder against her. Her hips moved up and down, up and down. “Edmund. Yes. Yes.”

  Intent on making her come on his command right there and then, he licked her faster and harder.

  She cried out and her thighs tightened, enclosing him against her softness. Her wetness met his tongue. Though he knew she was climaxing, he refused to stop until he had taken every wave of sensation from her core. She squirmed and then finally stilled, her thighs relaxing.

  Lifting his mouth from her wetness, he straightened and undid his trousers. It was damn well time to claim her and make her his. Here. Now.

  A banging on the double doors startled him from his intent haze.

  Maybelle sat up, pressed her thighs shut, and froze before him, her gloved fingertips digging into the couch. Her eyes widened.

  “Edmund?” The doors rattled against their hinges. “Edmund Worthington, open these doors!”

  Christ. It would be his mother.

  Maybelle frantically pushed herself up. She shoved at him, sending him fumbling back, and arranged her skirts down over her legs. She quickly rolled off the sofa, her bum wiggling and brushing past him.

  His cock throbbed, reminding him that he would have to wait for God knows how long. Bloody no.

  Edmund grabbed her waist and tightened his hold. “The doors are secure,” he growled out, trying to yank her back toward him. “And our night has yet to begin.”

  Maybelle smacked his hands away and glared down at him from where he was on his knees. “I believe you have received more than your share of handouts, Your Grace, and I certainly don’t see a hundred thousand pounds sitting in your lap. Now. Open the door.”

  Edmund threw his hands up in the air and let them drop back down to his sides. Bugger. She was right. What was worse, he was bloody losing sight of what he was supposed to do. Make a lady out of her.

  He slowly rose to his feet and grumbled as he put himself away and fastened his trousers back into place. Adjusting and readjusting his cock, he winced and felt as if he was going to damn well burst. Which at this rate, he most likely would.

  He shook his head and eventually made his way toward the door, withdrawing the key from his vest pocket.

  “Edmund,” his mother hissed from the other side, still knocking. “This is not the way to go about making her into a duchess. Do try and remember that we have guests to tend to!”

  Yes, and you’d think she would keep her voice down because of that. “Coming, coming!” he yelled out.

  Pausing at the doors, he glanced back toward Maybelle to ensure her appearance was intact. To his surprise, Maybelle had not only pried open one of the farthest windows of the study, but was hanging onto the frame with both gloved hands pulling herself up onto the windowsill. She winced and dragged herself and all of her heavy skirts up with whatever strength she had. She then popped her slippered feet out through the window. As if she did this sort of thing all the time. Her gown billowed up all around her elbows as her bottom wiggled around to get out.

  All of London was getting an amazing show. At no cost at all. While he was damn well paying a hundred thousand pounds for it. “What the blazes are you doing?” he hissed from across the room.

  “I’d rather not face your mother. Do inform my grandmother that I will be waiting in the carriage. Good night.” With that, she completely slid out of the window and disappeared for a brief moment outside. She then popped back up, slammed the window shut, and disappeared into the night.

  Gone. Just like that. The disappointment that met his gut was overwhelming. Not to mention unexpected.

  His mother pounded on the doors again. “Edmund!”

  He blew out a breath, shoved the key into the lock, and clicked it open. His mother was one sure way to get rid of the damn bulge in his trousers.

  Lesson Ten

  Lewd and erotic thoughts are a very necessary evil when it comes to the art of seduction because they will ultimately prepare you for what is most important. Reality.—The School of GallantryMaybelle slowly sat on the edge of her grandmother’s bed, folded her hands, and patiently awaited the set of instructions promised. The set of instructions that would propel her into the world of educating men on the art of seduction. Needless to say, she was nervous. Incorrigibly nervous.

  In a single day, she would take the role of headmistress at the School of Gallantry. And she had absolutely no idea what that entailed.

  She’d already read and reread all four of the applications which had been originally submitted to the school, and was shocked to discover that one of the students—the Earl of Brayton—was actually a thirty-one-year-old virgin. Now there was a story.

  Her grandmother leaned toward Maybelle and tapped the bottom lobe of Maybelle’s ear to ensure she was listening. “I have several rules, chère,” she announced in a rather serious tone. “No one, not even you, is allowed to be seen going in or out of my school. It marks our exclusivity and more importantly protects my étudiants. After all, no man wants to advertise that he is in need of lessons.”

  “So how do they get in?” Maybelle smirked. “Or out?”

  “Ah.” A mysterious smile tilted her grandmother’s lips and her blue eyes sparkled. “There is an underground passage that connects from one of the neighboring townhomes to my school. I have been most fortunate to have procured it at no cost by its owner, Lady Chartwell.”

  “Lady Chartwell? You mean the widow you earlier spoke of?”

  “Oui. Though I suspect you will not have that many chances at meeting her. She is very occupied with several worrisome prospects both in and out of the city. Now. This passage. Lady Chartwell disclosed to me that it had once been used by her family’s great grandfather, who frequented his mistress almost a hundred years ago. Quite appropriate, oui?”

  Maybelle pinched her lips together. Yes, and who knew how many other such tunnels existed beneath the streets of London. Men digging in the name of lust. She only hoped that the Duke of Rutherford wouldn’t start digging a tunnel to her room. She certainly wouldn’t put it past him. He was intent on making her writhe.

  She swallowed and tried not to linger on the incredible pleasure he had bestowed upon her with his mouth. She hadn’t even told her grandmother about it. Mostly because her grandmother was a firm believer that a woman’s body was a form of business. Handing out free goods, as she liked to call it, was horrible business, because then customers expected free goods all the time.

  Her grandmother leaned back against her pillows; smoothed the crisp, white linens around her waist; and sighed. “The tunnel will take you below the school and from there, Harold will escort you up into the classroom.”

  Maybelle realized she wasn’t listening. “I’m sorry. Harold?”

  “Oui. H
e is the gatekeeper, of sorts, and ensures that everyone goes where they are supposed to. He will be waiting for you at the end of the tunnel.”

  Impressive. “I have to say, I am quite astonished as to the amount of thought you’ve put into this. How long have you been considering this notion of a school?”

  “For years, chère. Ever since I became a demimondaine in France. Now. You are in possession of some very private and delectable details with regards to each étudiant. Be certain to keep those details private as they prefer their matters to be tight-lipped, for obvious reasons. I have also sent each of them, including His Grace, a detailed letter informing them how and when to arrive at the school. They will each deliver a nightshirt for you to examine.”