She sucked in a breath through her nose, not deterred, unwilling to give up just yet. If she could uncouple her mind from reality while the doctor did…whatever he was going to do down there, perhaps she could come up with a solution before it was all over.
“How do you want me, Doctor Roath?” she asked, the question sounding far more teasing and suggestive than she’d intended.
The doctor paled in reaction, fumbling with the zip on his bag. “On the bed, please. Remove your undergarments and place your bottom at the edge.”
She suppressed a smile at the mention of undergarments. Barentyn didn’t look in the slightest bit amused. She wondered how he ever asked women to take their clothes off for him, but the thought didn’t get very far as she slipped her sodden knickers off. As far as she knew, he didn’t even have a wife.
She lifted her skirt and sat at the edge of the bed, her hot backside meeting the cool silk sheet.
“Lie back. Lift your legs,” the doctor instructed, a large metallic item in his hand.
Lenora glanced at Barentyn, his face hidden by shadow, though his expression remained unchanged. She flicked her gaze down to his trousers, wondering if she might catch sight of a bulge down there. Any man with a brain should be turned on by a chance to see her intimate areas; she was quite a pretty girl, after all, but there was nothing—no expression and no bulge. He was truly a machine of a man. As she lay back, lifted her knees up, and allowed the doctor to part her ankles, placing her feet to the sides, she gripped the bedsheet.
A fat and shaking hand touched her opening, and she remembered just how wet she was. The doctor cleared his throat. The tremble in his fingers was evident and did nothing to help her suppress her wandering mind as he accidentally rubbed a callous fingertip over her clit. She felt her insides squeeze in reaction, and a new fear flushed over her. She felt so on edge from a day spent with dirty thoughts that it wouldn’t take much to push her over that edge. What would Barentyn do if the doctor unwittingly brought her to a climax as he watched? Would he even notice? Would she be in trouble, or would the doctor get the blame?
Before she could figure out the answer, something cold and hard clamped onto her lower lips, followed by something inserting deep inside. She tensed up, clutching the bedsheet harder and gritting her teeth.
“Relax, Ma’am,” the doctor said. How could she relax when he invaded her insides with such a contraption? The sound of a screw turning set her teeth on edge, and then she felt herself being pulled apart. She could imagine the image, like a butcher opening up a pig carcass. Relax? Fat chance.
The earlier pleasant sensations were replaced by a series of prodding and pulling and tugging, and the occasional muttering from Roath. After a while, she did release the death-like grip on the bedsheets, only to dig into them once more when she felt a tentative poke at her butthole. She didn’t need a biology doctorate to know babies didn’t come from round there. As it was, a deeper throat-clearing noise came from the other side of the room. Barentyn must have noticed the odd act himself. Suddenly, she felt very sick at the thought of that man watching everything so closely.
“Doctor, are you nearly done? I’m feeling quite sick,” she said.
The doctor murmured something in response, then released the screw, freeing the pressure on her lips and removing the invasive object.
She pushed up on her elbows, leaving her knees in place, needing to sit upright to prevent herself from unleashing her lunch across the bed.
“Almost, Ma’am.” The doctor was sweating, great droplets dribbling down his forehead. He dabbed them away with a cloth and positioned himself in front of her, blocking Barentyn’s view of her privates. Slowly, intimately, he ran his finger through her tufts of pubic hair, scraping the back of his nail over her clitoris, and then he dipped two fingers inside, leaving them in place. She watched him, looking down at herself, forgetting about Barentyn, the burning erotic desire returning in an instant. She felt her insides clamp around his fingers and silently begged for him to slide them in and out. If he did, she would come, hard and fast, and there would be no stopping it. Instead, the doctor slipped his fingers free, wiped them clean on his cloth, and stood.
“Well?” Barentyn barked.
“Yes, well…” the doctor bumbled as he reassembled the tools into his bag and wiped his spectacles with his sweat and vagina-soaked cloth.
Lenora’s heart thumped hard; she’d not managed to think up anything to say, having been too preoccupied with the sensations below. What was she going to do?
“Well?” Barentyn rumbled at him again, unfolding his arms and taking a step forward.
“I believe the news is good. Though it is very early on, so many things can go wrong in these early stages, but yes, there is a child in there.”
“Good,” Barentyn said.
“I would like a moment to speak with the Consort to discuss how she should care for herself.”
“Yes, fine. Cover yourself up.” Barentyn pointed between her legs; she’d forgotten all sense of modesty.
Once the Commander had left, she set her feet on the floor, legs feeling wobbly. Had all her worrying been for nothing?
“Ma’am.” Roath dropped to his knees at her feet, eyeing the door with suspicion as though it might suddenly grow ears. “I’m sorry, you are not pregnant.”
“Oh?”
“Please, please accept my forgiveness. I examined Emi several times over the years. There was nothing I could see to prevent her from conceiving, and I see no reason for you, either. The fault therefore must lie with the Emperor himself, but I daren’t suggest it to him.”
His eyes met hers, full of pleading and sorrow. His words gave her confirmation of what she already knew. For all the good it would do her.
“My apologies, Ma’am. I didn’t know what else to do, but I have bought you some time. You must find another to impregnate you as quickly as possible. If we cannot show proper signs of a child in a few months, I fear the Emperor will suspect.” He dabbed more sweat from his brow.
Lenora bit her tongue and stopped herself from admitting she’d already come to that conclusion and figured out that plan. As it was, the doctor was sticking his neck out with his actions, buying her time. It was a very kind gesture, one that would likely result in the most severe punishment for him if it were discovered.
“I understand,” she said simply.
“I would offer to help you myself, but I’m not a brave man and I fear what would happen if we were caught. There must be someone in your confidence who can help you. Good day.” With that, he collected his case and scurried out of the room like a rat running from an angry cook with a knife.
She flopped back on the bed once more and stared up at the ceiling. Having a guard at the door would make any more excursions to find Nathanial very difficult. She felt confused and shocked, still hot and unsated from the unusual examination.
Before long, her fingers found their way between her legs to the warm, sticky mess. She thought of the doctor cautiously probing her and Barentyn watching as she dipped two fingers inside as deep as they would go. Her mind tracked to that odd moment when he had probed her backside, how dirty and naughty it had felt, and the fact that that small act was the only time Barentyn made a noise. The thought of it made her dizzy and she reached around with her free hand to mimic the action, teasing her sensitive opening with a fingertip.
It didn’t take long before her breath caught, and she was tumbling over the edge, rocking her hips to the rhythm of her fingers and letting a needy moan escape her lips. She lay still for a moment, keeping her fingers inside, almost wishing Averys were here. Despite his lack of skill in the bedroom, she felt needy for a good, hard pounding. As the sky outside turned to a warm shade of pink, she had the distinct feeling she’d be spending the night alone.
VI – Visitors
“Wife.” Averys’s voice startled her from a sweet dream.
She jolted, finding her arm trapped between her legs. Had she been s
leep-masturbating? His face came into focus; he leaned over the bed, his fists sticking into the mattress.
“Love?” she said, untangling her arm and trying to sit upright.
“It is almost midday. Whilst you must rest, I think excessive rest would be unwise. There is a gathering tonight. You need to get ready and make yourself look organised.” He swiped the bedsheets away, as if he were a father getting a stubborn teenager out of bed. As he headed to the window to tug the curtains open, the cool daylight catching the grey hairs on his head, she wondered if perhaps the metaphor was apt.
“A gathering?”
“Only a hundred or so. It bothers me to do it on short notice. The staff best be prepared, or I’ll have heads on pikes. Perhaps I’ll pike them during the after-dinner entertainment.” The sneer on his lips made her stomach churn. When had he become so bloodthirsty? Was it because he’d been denied the chance to kill her off and replace her with a new woman?
She tried to flatten the expression on her face and not react to his new, murderous desires. Perhaps she could fill herself up with assassin sperm again so he could indulge in that new hobby, instead.
“I’m sure they’ll cope. What is the gathering in aid of, may I ask?” She joined him at the window, praying to any god who may listen to pluck her through the glass and carry her on the wind to someplace else.
“A celebration,” he said cryptically—and not very enthusiastically.
“Will my mother and father be coming?” A small glimmer of hope arose in her breast at the possibility of seeing familiar faces she hadn’t seen since the wedding. Though she’d kept in touch with her parents with frequent letters, it wasn’t the same. Perhaps she’d get a chance to speak privately with her father and tell him what had been going on. He was always so strong and reliable in his manner; he would know what she should do. Even if he didn’t, he would give her a reassuring hug to calm her, for a moment, at least.
“They cannot attend.” Averys tapped on the windowsill, his eyes glazing over. Was that a lie? Or was he hiding something reprehensible in that simplistic statement?
Lenora doubted her parents would let anything get in the way of a chance to visit her at a fancy party at the palace. Though they were Lord and Lady, they’d not been in Averys’ favour until he’d found their daughter to be a suitable wife. She certainly wouldn’t risk discussing details of the plot against her and the reasons for it in written form. Averys made sure that all her correspondence passed through his hands before being sent by royal courier. She didn’t trust any of the messengers to take a letter directly on her behalf, not without sneaking a peek at the contents.
“And my brothers?” Though she would have preferred her father’s comfort and wisdom, she would still share her sorrows with any one of her three older brothers. The way Averys started to chew on his teeth, jaws crunching back and forth, his stare fixated across the city, told her they weren’t coming either. Perhaps they hadn’t been invited.
“You are mine now. I am your family. Anything you would have discussed with them you should be discussing with me.” He gave her a sideways glance.
“Oh, I didn’t want to discuss anything with them. I just…miss them.”
“Hmph. Women.” He turned on his heels and collected a jacket he’d left dangling over the dresser before heading to the door. “You must wash, dress, and eat. Be ready by eight o’clock,” he grunted over his shoulder to her, slamming the door shut behind him.
And he thinks I’m going to have heartfelt discussions with him.
She did as directed, washing attentively, spending an inordinate amount of time lounging in the bath and paying careful attention to the cleansing of one particularly sensitive area. She really was developing a lusty streak. She’d filled the bath full of bubbles, then parted a gap in the middle to look down at herself in the water as her fingers worked their magic. Sadly, there hadn’t been anything of a suitable size and shape in the washroom to add to the mix. She really didn’t want to have to send for the doctor to remove anything that might have gotten stuck. As helpful as the doctor had been, that would have been beyond embarrassing. She was still reeling from her last meeting with him two weeks ago. At any rate, she would have preferred something real to stick inside, and preferably attached to a handsome young man with red hair.
She’d called for the maid to bring her a light salad for her combined breakfast and lunch. Though she was hungry, their dinners were usually lengthy affairs, comprised of many courses, and she wanted to be sure to leave enough room for pudding.
Now she stood in front of the mirror, the doors to her large closet room wide open. Lines of fancy dresses in every shape and colour stretched on for yards. Every girl’s dream, she mused. Shame about the husband with a penchant for killing off his wives. That, of course, came with the dresses. She’d dismissed her chambermaids, not wanting their childish looks and silently judging faces anywhere near her tonight.
She stood in a thin slip, virtually see-through, admiring a pair of dresses she’d picked out and trying to decide between the two. A soft knock at the door startled her. She checked the clock quickly; it was only seven fifteen. She still had plenty of time left to get dressed and do her hair, so it shouldn’t be Averys turning up with anger aimed at her apparent tardiness. In any case, he didn’t usually knock.
“Who is it?” she called, looking around the room for something she could throw on quickly to cover herself. A frown crinkled her forehead when no one answered. She strode to the door, flinging it open, wondering if one of the page boys was having a joke. The guard outside flinched and grabbed for his rifle in a bumbling manner, acting in an equally bumbling style when he tried to put it away again.
“Ma’am?”
“Did you knock on my door?”
“Uh, no, Ma’am.” He looked up and down the corridor suspiciously.
“Did anyone knock on my door?”
“Uh, no, Ma’am?” He turned to face her, his back straightening though his eyes bulged out of his head.
Then she remembered what she was wearing—or not wearing. She swung the door shut indignantly.
A cold breeze trickled across her shoulders and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. She sidestepped, developing a distinctive sensation that there was someone in the room with her. Surely Averys wasn’t going to have her killed right now? Just moments before a formal gathering? She reached the bedside table and gripped the handle of the lantern, intending to swing it at any would-be assassin. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.
“Hmm.” A voice rumbled beside her ear and she froze on the spot. She wouldn’t get a chance to swing anything at anyone that close. “A lantern wouldn’t be very effective.”
She spun around and came nose-to-nose with Nathanial—or more like nose-to-neck as he stared down at her. A rush of emotions swept over her like a wave crashing on the shoreline. Had he come to kill her? Dared she hope he was here to sweep her into his arms and carry her off to some secret hideaway? Did he just want a quick fuck?
“Nathanial,” she said with more bravado than her constitution should have allowed.
“Ma’am.” He gave a partial bow and took a step backwards, clasping his hands behind his back. She looked from him to the door, to the open window, and back again.
“Are you here to kill me?”
His face crumpled slightly, then smoothed out to a neutral expression. Had she hurt him with that assumption? It wasn’t an unsubstantiated question, seeing as he was an assassin and had just managed to sneak past her guard and into her room quite skilfully. Whatever he was here for, he must have been very determined.
“No, Ma’am.”
She pushed a breath out between pursed lips, trying to will her thumping heart to settle. Noticing that she still clutched the bedside lantern, her ill-thought weapon of choice, she set it back on the table and smoothed her sweating palms down her dress—her see-through dress. She felt her face flush.
“For futu
re reference, a blade would be more effective against a would-be assassin,” he said, eyeing the lantern.
She felt her face burn further still. “Well, I don’t have any of those handy.”
“None?”
“Only dresses and bedsheets.”
“Hmm.” He glanced around the room, more like a soldier doing a study of a battleground than a man perusing a lady’s bedroom.
“Nathanial?”
“Ma’am?”
“Why are you here?”
“The palace is distracted with the gathering. The Emperor is unlikely to order any assassinations this evening, at least not until after everyone has arrived. You have forty-five minutes until you are required.” He glanced over at the clock briefly. “Forty minutes.”
“And…you thought you would fill that time—”
“Tending to your needs.” His eyes flicked down the front of her dress in a flash. The admission and perusal set her insides alight, and she felt her muscles clamping down as though he were already inside and she wanted to hold him there, laying claim to him with her body.
“The guard,” she said, remembering the man outside, suddenly afraid that he might come in—not that he’d had a reason to before now, but with her luck, he would probably barge straight in.
“He will not be a problem,” Nathanial said, his dark blue eyes glinting in the evening light.
“But if he comes in—”
“He is a buffoon. If he dares to enter, I will deal with him.”
She didn’t like to think of what Nathanial’s version of dealing with someone involved, buffoon or not, but as she eyed the rapidly ticking clock, she knew she didn’t have time to stand around debating it.
She grasped at the edges of her slip dress, intending to rip it over her head. Instead, Nathanial stopped her, placing his hands over hers and pulling the material away from her fingers. She felt the heat between them; this close, she could see the telling bulge in his dark trousers and ached to reach out and grab it. Something in the intensity of his gaze told her to stay put. This time, he was in control.
Desire and Duty (The Consort's Chronicles Book 1) Page 4