“Ah!” She gasped in pretend offence, “I'll have you know that they do not hang... they're quite perky.”
“Mmm, I'm sure they are... you're at the mercy of a dangerous and armed man, do you submit?” Declan raised his head, bringing the fist closer, directed in the rough direction of her throat. Her head, on the otherhand, lowered, her smile fading slightly though there was still a glimmer of amusement in her.
“You should know by now; I'm not one to submit.”
His hands came to rest at his lap, the show evidently over in terms of his swashbuckling. He smiled at her softly and earnestly.
“Strangely enough, in spite of my admiration of submissiveness in women... I think it may be my most favourite attribute of yours.” Her features flickered slightly, some redness coming to her cheeks, it was as though she had a difficult time either believing it, or figuring out what to make of it. “Perhaps after a few years it would become tiresome, what do you think?”
“I...” she shook her head lightly, staring intently into his eyes, her blushing face unable to hide her little smile.
Chapter 7
“I don't know, Em.” Her arms crossed, Janet peered side-long at her quite gravely, fingers rapping against her. “With his reputation, all this nonsense could be a clever show to get your guard down.”
“I understand your caution, it's quite valid. Still, I think-”
“Emma's a good judge of character; she wouldn't just open herself up to anyone.” Came blonde Denise with a smile, taking a sip from her cup of tea. The Viscountess nodded her thanks to the compliment even though it had come as an interruption.
“That may well be.” The skeptical and brunette with the short, modern haircut carried on. “Still, he's known to be quite crafty. God only knows how many illegitimate children he might have.” Unfolding her arms, she took up her cup of coffee which Denise had bought especially for her.
“Really. He seems quite clever, I don't think you give him enough credit, he'd be more careful than that.” Emma held the saucer in-hand, setting the cup down on it.
“You don't deny his reputation, however, do you?”
“Of course not, and I don't like it anymore than you do.”
“Nor do I.” Piped up the blonde at the end of the long table, her friends at either side of her. A small tray of sandwiches and pastries sat between them all, a lovely little lunch.
“I think he's coming around, though. I mean, he... he'd even told me... well...” Emma faltered, rethinking whether or not she should share the information, and Janet caught on quite quickly.
“... well...?” she stated with the very same tone as the final word spoken before her with only the tiniest inflection of a question at the very end. Denise looked to her right at her brunette friend, and then to her left at Emma, a smile on her face as she held her cup of tea.
“He...” still unsure, her uncertainty changed to certainty. “He had confided something to me.”
“Confided something to you...”
“Was it at the park?” Came Denise, a bit less pressingly.
“Yes, though he'd whispered it.”
“Ooo, a secret...”
“Yes, which is why I thought it best not to share it.” Emma nodded, looking ahead to Janet across the pretty white tablecloth, then to the less forward Denise to her right. The two merely stared at her silently, a serious look across the way and a playfully intrigued one from the blonde. “Oh come on, must I?”
“You must.”
“Oh please do...”
“Hahhhh...” Emma sighed. “Well... he... and you mustn't speak a word of it! Well, unless perhaps he turns out to be a bit of a bastard and I was wrong all along, but none the less, unless that happens, not a peep.” The two nodded. A deep and confident one from Janet, with several quick ones from Denise in excitement to hear what he had confided in her about.
“He told me he... doesn't particularly get... 'excited'...” Janet gave a look of disgust, having a pretty good idea of what he may have said to her instead of 'excited', “... with other girls. Not since we've started dating.”
“Oh, that sounds... sweet?”
“Sounds like a sweet load of bollocks.”
“Well... that's not quite... all.” One critical eyebrow raised at her from across the table, while from her flank rose two merry eyebrows above a broad smile.
“Eee!” The blonde squee'd, clearly eager to hear, and Emma couldn't help but scoff amusedly at her friend's enthusiasm. Her short-haired companion, however, kept quite the serious poker face.
“He said he'd had difficulty... 'performing'.” Denise's jaw dropped as her lips made an 'O'.
“You mean he'd already been with someone else? While you two have been dating?” The 'O' widened as the hostess of the luncheon peered from Denise back to Em.
“Y-... yes.” She faltered, having not wanted to reveal this, but carried on quickly. “I was quite cross with him, obviously-”
“Obviously.” Janet butt in but Emma carried on.
“-but he seemed to be very sincere and, honestly what man would confide in such a thing with someone he were actively dating? For one, he'd... he'd slept with someone behind my back.” The Viscountess' features hardened at this, feeling anger bubbling up within her merely from having the words pass her lips. “So that's one thing,” she soldiered on, “but for two, that he couldn't quite... 'ahem'?” She didn't want to say it directly. “It's not exactly someone a man would boast about, not at all, certainly not to a woman he sought.”
“So he couldn't 'get it up'?” Janet gave, and by that point Denise's mouth couldn't be wider unless she managed to dislocate her jaw. “Certainly doesn't sound like him from what I've heard, what with his womanizing.” The final word dripped venom.
“Indeed, which makes it all the more impactful.” She even put down her saucered cup of tea to punch her hand as she said the word.
“If it's true.”
“Y-... yes. If it's true.” A slight hesitation, but she nodded. “I suppose it could be an effort of disarming, but... I mean... it's quite a risky one. Surely there would be more effective ways of attempting it rather than 'oh by the way I had fucked a woman recently and could hardly get a hard on'.” Emma gave in a deep, mockly masculine voice. Denise covered her mouth as she giggled at this, her eyes rapidly going between the two conversationalists before her.
“That's how he said it?”
“No of course not, he's very good with his words, and more than that I could hear in his voice how much he didn't like sharing it and explained to me why he told me.”
“Go on.” The blonde agreed with the brunette. Very enthusiastically.
“Truth and honesty.” Janet narrowed her eyes questioningly, Denise cocked her head slightly sideways, her bright hair swaying as she did. “It's something he'd been thinking a lot about, it would seem. Being truthful brings about the best outcome. As much as he hopes things work out with us, if I were to decide that what happened is so unacceptable to the point of having me break off the relationship-”
“Which would kill your mother.” The short-haired friend quickly provided usefully.
“- then that's for the best. After all, if...” she tried to remember how he'd said it, how his logic had worked out. The two others thankfully gave her a moment. “... if I would find him unacceptable for sharing such... difficult things... then that means he wouldn't be able to confide anything in me even if something worse or something not quite as bad happened. Long-term partners should be able to talk about most anything, no matter how difficult. So, while telling me that did threaten his chance of a long-term relationship between us, it could also potentially make clear our chances overall?” Emma was peering down at the table, her eyes squinting, not sure if she'd said it right.
“My, that sounds quite...”
“Hmph.”
“... quite thoughtful. Like he'd thought about it. A lot.”
“I think he did, Den. I didn't say it quite as well
as he did, but it made a lot of sense. He also promised to never do anything like that again if we end up getting engaged.”
“It's getting that serious?” Janet asked gravely. Emma looked to her with the centres of her eyebrows curved up, lips pressed together, giving a shrug. It seemed more like a weak apology than a show of uncertainty though.
“Well, your mother would certainly be happy, if no one else.”
“A great many men might be happy; wouldn't have to worry about their wives being scooped up by him. The Duke is quite handsome after all.” Denise gave, and Emma smiled to her.
“Quite wealthy too...” she gave in a sing-song voice, which brought a merry giggle from the blonde. The brunette crossed her arms again, not quite convinced.
“Still smacks of disloyalty to me. I still think he's a bastard.”
“Janet, you think all men are bastards.” The Viscountess pointed out.
“She's not wrong.”
“You used to be of a similar mind.” The brunette produced her own point. “Why the change? Why for such a womanizer as him? Come on, surely it's just because of your mother's pressure that you're even considering that sleeze.”
“Well...” she considered it a moment. “... that's very likely at least one aspect of it, but, I don't know, he just seems so very different from what I had been expecting. I especially didn't expect such honesty from him.”
“If what he said was honest and true.”
“I truly think he was. For better or worse. That's what he'd said, to! He didn't particularly want to tell me that, for obvious reasons, but... he still did, 'for better or worse' as he put it.” The woman across from her maintained folded arms under her huge bust, the best endowed of the table, her faintly pudgy face as untrusting as ever when the subject of men was on. Beside her, her far sweeter and smaller friend positively glowed at Emma.
“I'm so happy you've found someone, Em. You really seem to like him.”
“Y'know, I rather do.”
“Ohhh...” the blonde scooted her chair back to rise, and with a growing smile Emma did as well, allowing the two to embrace warmly. “You can really have a good life with him.” Her tender and high-pitched tone gave, she has always been quite the romantic. “Your mother would be happy, neither of you would ever want for anything.”
“Ugh...” muttered the skeptic, putting her tea down and folding her arms again. The hug she witnessed over such a matter finally broke as the two went back to their seats after a final look to one another's eyes, happiness beaming from each. Denise already had a shiny wedding ring on her finger, and evidently she looked forward to the day that Emma joined her in voluntary slavery, too. That's how the short-haired one viewed it anyhow, the biggest and oldest at the table.
“You'd have servants to do all the cleaning and cooking, to change the nappies-”
“To be buggered by your 'husband'. He's probably already screwing them if he has them, the bastard.”
“That was just cruel,” Denise chided the woman, not something she did often of course.
“Agreed!” There was a level of outrage in her tone as she spoke the word, staring at the woman across from her, folding her own arms as well.
“He'll screw anything that moves! Don't be daft; he might be playing you like a fiddle, ready to take you for a night, drop you off back at your mother's, and you'll never hear from him again!”
“I don't think there's anything I can say at this point that would change your mind.” Emma then gestured to the woman at the end of the table. “Denise's husband has been treating her like a Queen, yet you still think he's a-... well...”
“Hmph, he'll slip up, give it time.” Janet's adoration for the negative epithet 'bastard' was quite well known, but the blonde had made it quite clear how sick she was of it being applied to her man, especially in her own house, and so they all knew not to utter it in regards to him. Not that the Viscountess would do so.
Chapter 8
A precious little smile on the young girl's face, bouncing about with her father's protective arms on either side of her as he held the reigns. Sure, those big cars that rich folks drove looked fancy, but so noisy! No, she much preferred the horsies. Emberglow carried on her casual gallop as a tiny arm reached out, pointing to a field that was the backyard of a big, lovely house nearby.
“Daddy, look! She likes to ride too!” The woman, older than even her own dad, seemed to soar through the air on the remarkable steed. Hair flowing behind her head as she leaned forth, commanding it expertly.
“Evidently so, she seems quite good at that.”
“Can we go that fast?”
“Heheh, we shouldn't be so tough on her, if she got hurt then how would we get around?”
“Aw...” her little arm went limp, coming to rest on her lap. “OH!” They could hear the distant neigh as some small creature in the grass, scarcely visible, ran off while the horse pitched back. The father looked to the horsewoman again, having just taken her eyes off her for but a moment. Amidst the hoofed sounds of Emberglow, they could still hear her shriek as she fell.
“Oh no...” the man spoke lowly, “bad fall.” She'd indeed hit the ground in rather an awkward manner, and the horse moved about slightly on its back hooves.
“AIEEEEE-!” she cried out, her horse having moved backwards in her direction. The father was slowing his horse then.
“Christ! Let’s see if she is–“ He cut himself off as they watched the equine fall back onto the Dowager Viscountess. The older woman did not move when the horse rolled and rose shakily to its feet. Wheeling the horse around to shield his daughter from the sight, he kicked Emberglow into motion, and set out to find a doctor as quickly as he could.
“Oh my God, oh my God, do you think she's alright?” Emma clutched the fair fabric of the Duke of Dawsbury's handsome suit. He drove intently along, the vehicle rumbling and shuddering more than she'd ever experienced before in it. A prominent trail of dust followed them as they headed right back for town from whence they'd came. They had scarcely even pulled off the main road onto her property before someone happened along to inform them of the news.
“I don't know...” he confessed, which didn't help, “... I certainly hope so.”
“Bloody 'it doesn't look good', what bloody good is that bloody bollocks worth?!” Her voice began to hollow as her eyes welled up, rocking angrily beside him as she spoke, her knuckles white on his outfit. “Oh, mother!” The tears and sobbing began to come in earnest.
“I'm giving her all she's got; we'll be there soon, baby. We'll be there in a jiffy.”
“In sh-rt or-r...” she wept terribly beside him her tears falling freely onto the dress he had bought her, onto the dress that, unbeknownst to her, her own mother had cried upon. She had on the luxurious necklace, the ring he'd given her, and they were to show her the new one he'd gotten her, on the 'correct' hand, on the 'correct' finger.
Instead of the terrible happiness and glee that she would be showered with from her stern yet dear mother, she wept harder than she had since her father's passing. A time that was coming to mind all too quickly, and his mention of 'jiffy' brought with it the memory of her mother helping her prepare for her date with him. 'Short order' the woman said, and she hadn't understood the more modern term of 'jiff', short for 'jiffy'. It was 'short order' that Emma attempted to say, only to be made incoherent from her tears.
“That horse, that damn horse. I'll have it shot! Oh mummy!”
“Shh, shhhhh...” he brought an arm up around her, as difficult as it already was to control the wheel at that speed. She needed comforting, and his arm flexed in his sleeve as he stared intently forward. The soothing sounds he attempted to make her were of no help, and he knew it, but he knew not what to say.
“I'll shoot it myself if you like. I've got a pair of dueling pistols, we could give it a proper volley.” Still she wept as the vehicle noisily rumbled along, and aside from a mention of the road having a distinct lack of ants that day, no more a
ttempts at jokes were made.
The Dowager Viscountess was dead. Declared such only moments before their speedy arrival, though had lost consciousness on the way to the hospital herself, consciousness that she would never again regain. Emma cried all that day, and had spent at least an hour at her mum's side, and the Duke stayed at her side the entire time save for when he went to get her a glass of water. The nurse had told her, if she wished to hold her mother's hand, which she eventually did, to hold her left one.
Declan eventually drove her home to let the morticians do their duty. On the way, his own mansion a bit closer to the town than her home, he told one of his servants to gather some supplies, including a few bottles of good wine, and ride to her address. It gave the two time to focus on grieving, meals prepared by the faithful fellow who arrived at her place not long after they did. He stayed with her throughout the night, remaining decent even as the second bottle was uncorked. The servant got a guest room once the duke and his lady had retired for the night.
“Mmh...” he gave a light grunt as he stirred, eyes slowly opening as they sensed light from beyond the eyelids.
“'Morning...” his grieving fiancee gave, rather emotionlessly, and even as a bit of a grunt as well.
“G-... morning.” It would be a mistake to call it 'good', so corrected himself. “Sorry.” He held her from behind, spooning her closely, warmly, however having gotten an erection during his sleep as he so often did, it had been twitching and prodding at her rear. His hips scooted back, but still he hugged her from behind, one arm beneath her pillow to further support her head and the other wrapped around her waist just beneath her bra-clad bosom. He wore his underwear as well.
“No. Please...” she whined. “I... I want you to be close. It has nothing to do with the, um, but...”
“I understand.” He kissed her bare shoulder, scooting forth again, and as inappropriate as it was, he enjoyed the sensation of his erection against her. Silence befell them, grief thick in the air. Her clock ticked quietly on her nightstand, pleasant paintings on her walls, various beauty products lined up before a nearby mirror. He wished to talk, to ask her things, perhaps talking about memories of her mother would help, but he resigned to silence, thinking that perhaps that was the best thing.
Regency Romance Omnibus 2018: Dominate Dukes & Tenacious Women Page 67