The Duchess's Diary

by Allison Lane

Chester was already gloating over her ruin. It would be the ultimate revenge for her frequent complaints. Far better than a demeaning post. It meant he could toss her out without a penny. Even the trustees would not condone housing a fallen woman.

  There was no way to avoid Bitstaff. Not with Chester standing behind him. The staff could not protect her, and the price if they tried…

  Unless…

  She’d read extensively, so she knew exactly what Bitstaff needed and why. The French pox was a disease contracted from whores. There were as many remedies as victims, but the only guaranteed cure was to bed a virgin, the higher born the better.

  If she were not virgin, Bitstaff would have no use for her. There was no way to avoid losing her virtue, but she might still control her fate.

  She burst into the library, relieved to find Mr. Lascar working. Papers covered the table, with more piled on the floor.

  “You have to help me,” she panted, slamming the door, then leaning heavily against it as her knees wobbled.

  “Of course.” He rose. “Is Mrs. Baines worse?”

  “No.” Now that she faced him, her throat closed until she could barely force out words. “You have to bed me. Now.”

  He backed a pace, clasping his hands behind him. “Grief has overset you.”

  “No! Listen.” She repeated Chester’s pact with Bitstaff.

  “He has no authority over you,” he said calmly.

  “Do you think that matters?” Panic raised her voice and increased her determination. She left the door to face him across the table. “They are dissipated lords. The only authority they need is their own desire.”

  “I will speak with them—”

  “Fool!” She slammed her hands down and leaned closer. “They won’t listen to you or anyone. Chester has no money and Bitstaff no honor. My only hope is to prove that I am not a virgin. So they must catch me with someone else.”

  “What about Mr. Simmons?”

  “Absolutely not!” She couldn’t imagine touching Reginald, either, though at least he didn’t raise nausea. As a last resort she might consider it, but—

  “There has to be another way,” he said, shaking his head. “Forcing you to lie with him is obscene.”

  “I know, but that changes nothing. Bitstaff hates me. He will revel in defiling me. Chester also hates me, and he’s desperate to cover that vowel. Sacrificing me is nothing compared to reneging on a debt of honor. No one else will lift a finger. They either owe their allegiance to the duke – which means Chester, since the title ought to be his – or they consider me an interloper who shouldn’t be here in the first place.” Catherine had always treated her as one.

  “I can take you to the magistrate, Miss Harper. He will protect you.”

  “There is no time! Please! You said you would help. I can’t avoid ruin, but I would much rather you did it. You won’t hurt me. Bitstaff loves inflicting pain.”

  He exhaled sharply. “Very well.”

  * * * *

  You won’t hurt me.

  John’s head reeled as he moved around the table. If anyone had asked him to name the ten least likely situations he would ever face, this would have headed the list – assuming his imagination had stretched that far.

  He ought to turn her down. There had to be a way to protect her without taking her virtue. But attacking Bitstaff would see him arrested for assaulting a lord. And she was right. It was too late to flee. Chester would catch them before they could harness his team.

  Besides, he wanted her. He’d awakened half a dozen times last night, drenched in sweat, aching with the need to touch her, to hold her, to make her world right again. Her taste still lingered from Saturday’s kiss, shattering any hope that he could concentrate on work. Her dilemma was simply too tempting…

  “Come,” he said gently, holding out his hand.

  She flew into his arms. “Hurry. They’ll be here any minute.”

  “Relax. If I’m to avoid hurting you, I need time, but you needn’t fear that it will remain undone.”

  She shuddered, tilting her head to meet his gaze, then inhaled deeply.

  Someone had once put a Grecian couch in the library – an odd choice, he’d thought that first day. Now he was grateful. It was more comfortable than taking her on the floor, and he could use its back to protect her modesty. Turning it would make their liaison obvious from the door without exposing her to lecherous eyes. She couldn’t think beyond her present terror, but being caught would embarrass her. He must minimize that.

  “Easy.” He backed her toward the couch, keeping half of his mind on the hallway so he wouldn’t lose himself in her. “Had they left the study you before you fled the courtyard?”

  “N-no. But they were agreed.” Her hands clenched.

  “How long did you look for me?” Rubbing her arms turned them supple.

  “I knew you were working in here.”

  “Good. They won’t expect you to be with me, and this is not a room you generally use. We have plenty of time. Relax, sweetheart. There’s nothing to fear.” He licked her lips, sliding his tongue inside as they parted, gently coaxing her past any uncertainty.

  She responded immediately, pressing closer as her lips molded to his. The glory of it nearly drove thought from his head, but he fought against the oblivion he craved. He must stay alert so he would hear Chester coming. It was impossible to approach the library in silence. The squeaky floor was on his list of repairs.

  But his mind kept slipping into a sensual haze. She tasted erotic, as if her mouth was a rare delicacy. Rich. Potent. Drugging…

  “Touch me,” he murmured. “Knowledge conquers fear.”

  “I could never fear you.”

  Her hands skimmed his shoulders, exploring his throat, his arms, and his back, sampling and savoring until he trembled. Every stroke melted her further against him, quickening her breath until she was panting in anticipation.

  Her surrender burned warmly in his belly, a gift greater than any other. Innocence softened her eyes with wonder, her trust banishing all trepidation.

  He’d suspected she was passionate, and now he knew. Her heart pounded in rhythm with his own. Her tongue boldly fenced against his. Fingers dug into his sides. Heat flashed across her lovely skin as she turned to fire in his hands.

  Easing them down to the couch, he deepened the kiss. Pay attention, he reminded himself when her moans pulsed through his stomach. If he didn’t slow down, he would not only hurt her, but they would finish far too soon. He was more than ready, his shaft straining to be free, his breathing so fast—

  “That feels good,” she gasped, squirming closer in blatant invitation.

  “So it does.”

  Chester wasn’t his only consideration. This encounter would set the tone for a lifetime, for she was now his. He must be patient, thorough, and very gentle. He knew – as she did not – that there were myriad paths to fulfillment. This first time must be sweet and provoke a need for more. Much more.

  Sliding one hand beneath her loosened gown, he cupped a breast. This wasn’t the time to look or to suckle – never would he expose her to degenerate eyes – but he could pleasure her, slowly, sweetly, building her passion until she forgot all else.

  She moved into his touch, her skin humming under the brush of his fingers. Her moans grew louder and longer.

  “That’s right. Let it out.”

  Her breast swelled as he teased the nipple, so responsive he could barely contain his need. At least passion would make life together easier. There was no way to avoid marriage, for which he rejoiced. Never again need he agonize over their different stations. Fate had decreed this course. He would do everything possible to atone for her reduced credit, but she was now his.

  A creak sent curses crashing through his head. She wasn’t ready. Had he miscalculated? Perhaps a servant had seen her run this direction, betraying her in all innocence when Chester demanded her location…

  But no one was there.

  She pulled h
is head into a deeper kiss.

  Her trust humbled him, for his attack on Saturday should have destroyed it. That it remained was a huge step toward attachment. He could not expect her love, but she would be contented. Always. He would see to it.

  Her fingers dug into his back as she arched against his hand, panting harder.

  “You are so soft,” he whispered, trailing kisses over her face. “So warm. Feel the excitement build.” Her nipple was as hard as his shaft, and probably as sensitive. He pinched it, catching her scream in his mouth, then rolled it between his fingers.

  Faith couldn’t believe the sensations. His mouth was even sweeter than before. Kissing him was like sipping nectar, unwinding her terror, muscle by muscle, until she doubted she could move.

  Now he was building a new tension. Sparks bordering on pain shot from her breast, gathering in her womb to pulse and swell until she couldn’t remain passive.

  So this was intimacy. Terror faded, leaving only need.

  She could finally answer some of the many questions her reading had raised, such as why her parents had eloped and how girls could be led astray even when they understood the consequences. She’d crossed a critical boundary today, leaving rules and manners behind. Only need remained, so powerful that she could not turn aside. She writhed, seeking more, needing more, wanting…

  His hands stroked and fondled, now teasing, now urgent, building need higher until she could barely think. They raced over her skin like a storm. And his mouth! It ravaged hers, delving deep enough to taste her soul.

  A cool breeze whispered across her legs, distracting her from the sea of pleasure she’d been riding. She tensed as his fingers stroked up her calf. But those magic fingers worked there, too, so she shifted, urging him higher, toward the core that needed him so badly. His soft murmurs exploded into a rainbow of colors in her head, blocking all thought but of him. Each unsteady breath filled her with his scent. His taste. His very essence…

  John carefully draped her skirt to preserve her modesty even as he bared her to his penetration. His hands tingled with bolts of pleasure from skimming those long, lovely legs. They trembled at her responsiveness. She was ready, already writhing in need and so wet he could barely contain himself.

  Still no sound from the hall. He had time to do it right.

  He released himself so he would be ready, but held back, much to his body’s dismay. This time was for her. She must first know the joy. So he pleasured her, sliding a finger inside as his thumb stroked her sensitive core, pouring love into every touch.

  “Wha— Oh, my lord!” she gasped, surging upward as he stroked again and again.

  “Let it build.” He leaned in to kiss her. “Don’t fight it.” His other hand worked her breast.

  Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “Mr. Lascar!”

  “Call me John.”

  She arched, her hips bucking as he slid a second finger inside. “John!”

  His name curled warmly around his heart even as she clamped down on his fingers. She was so tight, he nearly exploded just thinking about how she would feel. “That’s right. Let it come. I’ll keep you safe.” His tempo increased, as did her moans. As she trembled on the edge, he plunged his tongue deep, mimicking his hand, then pinched her nipple.

  Her scream burst into his lungs, vibrating to his toes as she jerked beneath him. Wave after wave washed over her. Not until she went boneless did he slide between her legs. Piercing her maidenhead would never be easier.

  She blinked when he moved over her.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “For what?”

  “We’re not done yet, sweetheart. That relaxed you, but you are still chaste. This is your last chance to change your mind.”

  Memory flooded back. Chester. Bitstaff. “Do it, John. Now.”

  He nodded, then slowly pushed inside. She was soft and slack as a misty dawn, yet tight enough to push him nearer completion than he wanted.

  Faith tensed, not believing how large he felt.

  “Easy, my dear. I can’t avoid all pain, but it won’t last. Ready?”

  Ah, yes. Pain was inevitable. “Yes.” She steadied her hands on his shoulders, then bit back a scream as he thrust deep.

  “That’s the only bad part.” His voice sounded strained. “Take a deep breath and I’ll make it up to you. This time will be even better.”

  Her smile felt wobbly. But the pain was already receding. It no longer felt like he was ripping her apart. She caressed his cheek and nodded.

  The books she’d read described the process of intimacy, but they said nothing about its sensations. Already she’d felt so much more than she’d thought possible. Earth-shattering pleasure. A closeness she’d never before experienced. How could there be more?

  But there was. The heat returned, and the longing, stronger than before. Hotter. More exciting. There was no way to remain quiescent as he worked. Her body demanded that she clasp his hips with her legs, that she push against him whenever he thrust so he could reach deeper and deeper still. Intimacy was more than a physical joining, though. Her heart reached out, twining with his. Her mind. Her very soul…

  Sparks built behind her eyes. The room went hazy until the only reality was John. She stared into blue eyes blurred with desire and felt one with him. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget this day. No matter what happened next, she would always be grateful, for he made her initiation a symphony.

  She soared higher and higher, nearing the heaven she now knew awaited. Passion again drove thought from her mind. Release hovered…

  “Now,” he grunted, sliding a hand between them to touch the same spot as before.

  Need exploded into a thousand shards, freeing her soul to dance among the stars even as her body plummeted toward earth.

  John let her shout her glory, felt her clutch tighter around him, then he thrust again, deeply. He’d timed it perfectly. The door burst open as he shattered.

  Chapter Ten

  A son for Richard! My darling Montrose, how I love you. Is anyone more blessed than Richard and I?

  Duchess of Westfield, Apr. 1785

  John leaped to his feet, feigning shock and chagrin even as a twinge of pride warmed his heart – Faith’s shocked scream sounded so natural she must have forgotten Chester was coming.

  But now he must clear the fog from his head long enough to play his role. Dodging in front of her, he fumbled his clothes into place as he stammered, “D-damnation, we forgot to lock the door. When did he return? He wasn’t due until Wednesday.” With luck Chester would assume he was trying to shield his partner’s identity rather than positioning himself to protect her modesty and repel any attack.

  Chester surged forward. But he hadn’t gone two steps before Bitstaff whirled him around. “What kind of flat do you take me for?”

  Chester paled.

  “You knew she was a whore! You probably defiled her yourself.”

  “Never! You can’t—”

  Bitstaff’s fury deafened him to any protest. “No one cheats me, Chester. No one! My seconds will call on yours tomorrow, and if you don’t redeem your pledge by noon, I’ll see you barred from every club in England as a man who plays where he cannot pay. As for you”—he advanced toward Faith—“since you’re so free with your favors, I’ll take my share now.”

  “You won’t.” John raised his fists. Something clattered behind him.

  “Out of the way, oaf.”

  “No.” He blocked Bitstaff’s blow, such as it was. The baron was bloated and out of shape. Gentleman Jackson would shake his head in disgust over so miserable a specimen.

  “You dare to touch a gentleman?”

  “Aristocrat you may be, but you are no gentleman, sir.” John caught Bitstaff’s arm on the next swing, twisting until it snapped.

  Bitstaff screamed.

  As Chester leaped to the attack, Faith slammed the poker into his side. He whirled to retaliate and tripped over the couch.

  John shoved Bi
tstaff toward the door. “I’ll break the neck of any man who touches her,” he snapped as Chester scrambled to his feet.

  Bitstaff’s broken arm slammed into the doorknob. His scream distracted Chester, letting John move in front of Faith. She immediately stepped to his side, poker gripped firmly in both hands. Courageous, but not the smartest move she could make. But he could not afford to remove his attention from Chester long enough to argue with her.

  Chester glared at Bitstaff. “Worthless lout. Have your valet tend that arm. I’ll handle this.”

  “You’ll pay for this, too,” Bitstaff vowed. “Forget my seconds. You’ll never be welcome in London again.”

  “I’ll have the title in a week.” Hauteur stiffened Chester’s spine. “Few will cross a duke. There isn’t a man in London who will call me a liar when I describe how you broke into my house and assaulted me. If you claim otherwise, you will regret it.”

  Bitstaff’s look promised revenge, but he staggered away.

  John tensed for a new attack.

  Chester’s bluster wouldn’t hold Bitstaff for long. Once his pain lessened, the man would recognize Chester’s lies, so Chester faced ruin. His finances were in shambles – John had found a list of his debts tucked into the estate ledger. Expectations might hold merchants at bay, but gaming vowels were debts of honor that must be paid immediately. Chester couldn’t. With Faith’s virtue no longer available, stealing from the estate was his only choice.

  It wouldn’t be the first time. John had stared at the ledgers much of the morning, cursing himself for falling into Chester’s trap. The man had meant to hide personal expenses under the umbrella of repair bills.

  John’s gut burned at being used to feather Chester’s nest. But that problem could wait. The bank would never release a thousand pounds between quarter days without the trustees’ approval. Chester must know that. He would make Faith suffer for thwarting his plans.

  “I’ve never seen such an ungrateful wretch in my life,” Chester snapped, glaring at the poker. “I housed you and clothed you despite your insignificance, yet you dare to repay me by turning prostitute.”

  “You did nothing,” she countered. “It was the trustees who housed me, long before you had any connection to Westcourt. You have resented their decision from the moment you arrived. But you are not my keeper, sir.”