My Dark Duke by Kitty St. Claire

CHAPTER SIX

SEBASTIAN IMPATIENTLY PACEDthe length of the drawing room, as he waited for Miss Smith to make an appearance.

Her surprise acceptance of his offer had thrown his morning into disarray, and he had spent a good part of the day searching for a suitable pied-à-terre for his new mistress - as well as for staff to attend to her.

Working against Miss Smith’s arbitrary deadline - which Sebastian looked forward to punishing her for later, in the bedroom - he had selected a modest town house just off Berkeley Square, and an old friend’s acquaintance and his wife, to act as caretakers for both Mary and the house.

A knock came upon the drawing room door and Sebastian paused, his senses heightened. Was it Miss Smith, at last?

“Come in,” he bid, but to his disappointment, it was not Mary who appeared, but Polly Browne.

A former actress, Polly commanded attention, even dressed as she now was in the plain clothes of a servant.

“Miss Smith is just finishing her toilette, Your Grace,” Polly stated, her expression neutral. “I did not anticipate it would take this long, but one forgets how luxurious a warm bath can be, when denied one for some length.”

“Yes, of course,” Sebastian nodded, as though he had any understanding of what being denied luxury felt like. “She may take all the time she needs. I did not get a chance to mention, Polly, that Miss Smith will require a new wardrobe. A trip to Bond Street tomorrow, shall do it. Day dresses, evening gowns - whatever she requires. Have the bill sent to my man of business.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Polly replied, her plump mouth struggling to suppress a smile. “As you’re feeling so generous, might I request a girl for the kitchen and a lad to assist Michael with the heavier tasks?”

Michael, Polly’s husband, had been honourably discharged from the army a year ago. The injuries he had sustained fighting Napoleon’s forces, had rendered him incapable of heavier manual labour. Sebastian had received correspondence from an old friend, but a few weeks past, asking him to keep Michael and his wife in mind had he any need for discreet servants. The country that Michael had fought for had very little care for its crippled soldiers once they returned to English soil.

“You have my permission to hire whomsoever you might like, Polly,” Sebastian replied, with a lazy wave of his hand. “If anything is required for the house, just have the bill-”

“Sent to your man of business,” Polly finished for him, her eyes dancing.

Polly was no green girl and knew exactly what position Miss Smith was about to enter into.

“I must go and see if Miss Smith requires any assistance dressing, Your Grace,” Polly continued. “Is there anything else you need?”

“I sent out to Gunter’s for dinner - when the dishes arrive, just set them out on the table with the wine. That will be all, Polly. Thank you.”

Polly’s eyes disappeared into her hairline, so surprised was she to learn that a toplofty duke was happy to serve himself.

“I can cook, Your Grace,” she offered, as she left. “No need to send out to Gunter’s each evening for your supper.”

Sebastian, who had sampled some of Polly’s “cooking” earlier, when he had called into the rooms she and Michael kept in Covent Garden to offer them the position, hid a smile.

“Hire a cook while you’re at it,” Michael decided. Seeing the look of suspicion on Polly’s face, he hastily added, “You will be kept busy attending to Miss Smith; it is not fair to expect you to cook as well.”

Somewhat satisfied with that explanation, Polly took her leave, leaving Sebastian to continue his quest to wear out the Axminster carpet with his pacing.

With each minute that passed, his anticipation rose tenfold. It had been a long time since he had desired a woman and he intended on savouring every moment with Miss Smith - when she eventually deigned to sit with him, that is.

Finally - a brandy, two cheroots, and a half hour later - Polly knocked on the door again.

“Miss Smith will be down in a moment,” she stated. “The dining room is set up. If you have a need for anything else, I shall be in the kitchen.”

“Very good,” Sebastian answered, surprised he could speak, for his mouth had gone suddenly dry.

He drank what remained of his tumbler of brandy and made for the hallway, just in time to witness Miss Smith descend the stairs.

She was dressed simply, in a dress of pale blue muslin. Her auburn tresses were gathered into a neat chignon, which emphasised her heart-shaped face and high cheekbones.

She looked, Sebastian thought ruefully, every inch the innocent. Had he the heart to corrupt her? If not, did he have the willpower to overcome his own urges?

“Miss Smith,” he gave a short bow as she reached the bottom step, “How glad I am to see you here.”

“I was not expecting such…”

Mary waved a hand around the hallway, which was lit by dozens of candles in brass sconces and papered with silk-damask paper hangings. Above their heads, a chandelier twinkled, adding to the opulence.

“If the house is not to your liking, you may choose another,” Sebastian offered, innocently.

“The house is perfect,” she answered, finally turning her green eyes his way. “I was not expecting it to be so luxurious, that is all.”

“Did you expect me to hide you away in some fall-down terrace in St Giles?” Sebastian arched an eyebrow. “I am wounded, Miss Smith. I promised you the best - and I am a man who always delivers his promises.”

He had not meant for his words to sound quite so loaded, but as he finished speaking, he realised the double entendre. Miss Smith realised it too, for her plump lips parted slightly and her expression turned more guarded.

Dash it, Sebastian thought, as he offered her his arm - he would have to go slowly. She was like a doe; beautiful, but easily startled and likely to bolt.

In the dining room they found the table set for two and laden with silver platters. Sebastian’s seat was at the top of the table, with Mary’s to his right. He pulled out her chair and gestured for her to sit.

“I am afraid I am not entirely certain what it is we will be eating,” he said, as he uncorked a bottle of wine and poured her a generous glass. “But I am sure it will be edible; Gunter’s provides only the finest fare.”

“After suffering through Mrs Harrod’s mutton stew, I can eat anything,” Mary answered, her tone amused.

Sebastian set to work, lifting the lids off the platters to reveal what hidden delicacies awaited them. Venison steaks, dressed in rich gravy, potatoes roasted in goose fat, a Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée to start, and what looked to be syllabub for dessert.

He ladled out two bowls of the hearty broth for them both and took his seat.

“Eat up,” he commanded; she was worryingly thin, to his eye.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she answered, with mild impertinence and a discreet roll of her eyes.

Sebastian stifled a sigh; he had been told on numerous occasions that he could be rather high handed. He would have to rein such impulses in around Miss Smith, if he wished her to relax in his presence - for a while, at least.

The soup was delicious; buttery and rich. Sebastian was gratified to see Miss Smith finished her serving, and when both their bowls were empty, he plated up the main course.

“Do you often entertain here, Your Grace?” Mary queried, as she speared her venison with a fork.

“If we are going to become intimate, Miss Smith,” Sebastian answered, “you might address me less formally. In private, you may call me Sebastian. In public, Thorncastle will suffice. As to your query: no, I have never entertained her. I leased the house just this morning, for your sole pleasure.”

“Do you have many such establishments across town?”

Though she had posed the question lightly, Sebastian could not help but feel a stab of irritation at her presumption that his reputation was warranted. That she was merely one of the many mistresses he kept to satisfy his raging libido.

A few years ago, perhaps, her assumption might have been correct, but not now. The rage and anger which had consumed him for much of adulthood had left him; he had made peace with his past. There were no ghosts left to haunt him and he no longer sought solace in hedonism.

“I do not,” Sebastian stated, feeling almost prim. “My reputation is based on the actions of a man who no longer exists. I had thought myself done with women, Mary, until my eyes alighted upon you. You rekindled a flame I thought long extinguished.”

He let his words sink in, before changing the subject, “Do you always ask this many questions at supper? It can’t be good for your digestion.”

“If we are to be intimate,” she answered, not falling for his ploy, “then I wish to know something of you. You cannot expect a lady to fall into your bed, merely because you demand it.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” Sebastian agreed, offering her a rather wicked grin.

She frowned primly and he found himself charmed by her naivety; most women would not make him work so hard at seduction - for they knew how rewarding it would be to have him as a lover.

“I should like to know more about you,” Sebastian decided, as he stood to clear the plates and serve dessert. “You said you hailed from Kent; which part exactly?”

“Just outside Maidstone,” she answered, shifting her gaze to her lap. “A small village; you would not know it.”

“Try me,” Sebastian offered, as he set a glass of elderflower and strawberry syllabub down before her. “I have an estate near Dover, I often pass through Maidstone on my way there.”

“One of your estates, Your Grace?” Miss Smith teased. “How many do you possess?”

“I will not seek to bore you with talk of my lands,” he replied, well aware that she was trying to distract him. He recalled her slip of the tongue the previous night, when she had mentioned her father’s death, and how quickly she had changed the subject then. Was Miss Smith hiding something? “That type of talk is what my man of business is for. Is there a particular reason why you are so reluctant to share the name of your hometown, Miss Smith? Or do you simply wish to remain mysterious?”

“The latter,” she stated, lifting her eyes to his. “What if I decide to return there one day? I should not like to think of you arriving to look for me; I would be known forever more as a fallen woman.”

A strange, primitive feeling of possessiveness overcame him at her words. He did not at all like the thought of her disappearing on a whim, forever out of his reach.

“I hope that you are not intending to run away?” he asked, as he reached over to top up her glass. “You have not yet seen what I can offer you.”

“Oh?” It was her turn to arch an eyebrow, “And what’s that?”

“A life of luxury and pleasure,” he answered, with a Gallic shrug. “The freedom to come and go as you please - within reason, of course. The power and the wealth that comes from being associated with the Thorncastle name. Dresses, jewels, sparkling champagne, trips to Europe, if you wish. The theatre, the opera, a carriage and six - you can have it all, Mary.”

“I may have everything I wish for, except for your heart,” she surmised.

“I’m told I don’t have one,” Sebastian grinned, “So I’m afraid you’re correct; that’s not on offer. But I will care for you, treasure you, and protect you, until you decide you are done with me.”

She reached for her wineglass and brought it to her lips, her brow furrowed in thought. For the first time in his life, Sebastian felt a stab of doubt. He had offered Miss Smith everything he was capable of offering to a woman, but for the first time, he wondered if it would be enough.

Nervous that he might lose her, Sebastian decided that a demonstration of what else he could offer might tempt her further.

He pushed back his chair and stood, before holding out his hand for her to take.

She looked at it for one uncertain moment, before allowing him to pull her to her feet.

“You are nervous,” Sebastian stated. “That’s only to be expected; but you accepted my offer, Mary, because you trust me. Am I right?”

She nodded, slowly.

“Then I will ask you to trust me a little bit more,” Sebastian whispered, as he placed one hand at the small of her back and pulled her towards him.

He kissed her softly, glad that this time they were in a warm room and not a rattling carriage. As she relaxed into his arms, Sebastian’s mouth drifted from her lips to her ear, dropping gentle kisses along her delicate white skin.

A sigh of pleasure let him know he was on the right path and he gently continued his exploration of her skin. From her ear, all the way down to the nape of her neck, he rained hot kisses, before returning with zeal to claim her mouth once more.

This time he did not go softly; he captured her lips with the full force of his desire and claimed her mouth completely. As his tongue caressed the soft recesses of her mouth, Sebastian’s hands slipped from the small of Mary’s back to her bottom, and he pulled her against him so that she might feel just how much he desired her.

She gasped as he pressed his hard length up against her. Her hands fell from around his neck and roved his chest. Sebastian shivered with longing as her fingers slipped through the gaps of his shirt and caressed his skin. Her innocent touch was more arousing than any of the practiced strokes of a lady of the demi-monde.

“Enough,” he rasped, pulling away from her. “I won’t take you on the table. Come.”

In one swift motion, he lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. He carried her from the dining room, all the way to the top of the stairs, where he encountered a slight hurdle.

“Which room?” he rasped, and she nodded towards the end of the hall.

Once they had reached the bedchamber, a pretty room decorated in shades of pastel, Sebastian set her down and began the torturous process of undressing her.

His fingers felt clumsy, as he undid the buttons of her dress. After what felt like hours, it fell to the floor with a sigh, revealing her slim curves. She wore no stays, he noted, and the pink of her nipples was visible, even through the material of her chemise.

With her clothing out of the way, Sebastian drew Mary towards him again, though this time he felt her tremble slightly.

“Are you cold?” he inquired, to which she shook her head.

Her cheeks were aflame with passion and desire; it was the fear of that which had her trembling, Sebastian realised with a pang of guilt. She had been brought up to be afraid of her desire, to see it as something bad and wicked.

“Go lie on the bed,” he ordered her.

Mary obeyed, padding gently across the thick carpet to the bed, unaware that her thin petticoat gave Sebastian a tantalising view of her bottom.

He removed his boots with haste, then shrugged off his coat and waistcoat, and pulled his shirt over his head. His breeches, sadly, would remain in place.

“Lie back against the pillow,” Sebastian instructed, as he reached the bed.

She complied, though he could tell she was still nervous, for her green eyes followed his every move.

“Just relax,” he commanded. “I am not about to relieve you of your maidenhead. At least, not tonight.”

“Then what is it you wish to do?” she asked, confused.

“Pleasure you.”

Her mouth parted into a perfect “o” of surprise. Sebastian, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned over her and captured that mouth in another kiss.

Though he inwardly cautioned himself to go slowly, his excitement was difficult to resist. He felt as he had when he was a young buck, coupling for the first time. Hopefully he would manage not to spill his seed in his breeches - as he had unfortunately happened on his lovemaking debut.

His hands longed to explore, so he allowed them. He placed one under Mary’s chemise and stroked the smooth skin of her stomach, marveling at her feminine softness. From there, he traced a feathery line to her breasts, which he circled slowly, delighting in torturing her a little.

Mary bucked underneath his touch. Her nipples, Sebastian was gratified to note, were proudly erect, begging for his attention.

With practiced skill, Sebastian tore her chemise open and dropped his head to suck on the pert rosebud mounds he had revealed.

“Oh, please,” Mary whimpered, her hips pushing up against his, “I beg you.”

Sebastian leaned back and surveyed her through lustful eyes. Gone was the prim and proper lady of earlier, replaced by a flame haired vixen who wanted more. And Sebastian was not the type of man to ever refuse a woman’s wishes.

“Show me,” he growled, as he pulled her petticoats up to her waist, revealing a pair of slim legs and a neat mound of auburn curls.

“Show me,” he said again, taking her hand and guiding it down. “Show me where you want me to touch you.”

He nudged her legs open with his knees, so that all of her was on display. She gasped, shocked as she realised what he wished for her to do.

“Do you wish for me to touch you…here?” he queried, running a finger along her wetness.

“Or here?” he mused, as his finger stroked her pearl of pleasure.

“There,” she panted, her hand reaching down to join his.

Her answer was instinctive, her need now outweighing her modesty. Sebastian stifled a moan of longing, as she rubbed her finger around her clit in a circular motion, her eyes half-closed in longing.

He was, he realised, dangerously close to losing all control - and if he continued to watch her pleasure herself, he would be lost completely. His erection strained against his breeches, with agonising pleasure, and for a moment he contemplated unleashing it, just to sate his primal urges…

But as Mary watched him, with innocent trust, he realised he could not. He could not take this moment of pure pleasure away from her.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, as he watched her. “I want to taste your beauty, to feel it on my lips.”

“W-what do you mean?” she stuttered, her hand suddenly pausing.

“Allow me to demonstrate.”

Sebastian slid down, so that he was lying between Mary’s legs. He kissed the inner softness of one thigh and then the other, before lowering his mouth against the pearl of her womanhood.

She gasped aloud, her hands reaching to grasp his hair. She tugged on it, as though she wished him to stop, but when he lifted his head, she gave a mewl of protest.

Hair pulling was a confusing method of communication, of which the true meaning might be misconstrued, Sebastian thought with a smile, before he dipped his head again to taste her sweetness.

As his tongue worked against her nub, he traced the silky soft lips which guarded the entrance to the Altar of Venus - an altar which he hoped to spend a great deal of time worshiping. With great care, he stroked and coaxed her open, and slipped the tips of three fingers gently inside.

Her muscles tightened around them, but he did not push any further - he simply moved them gently in and out, as his tongue continued to lavish attention upon her nub.

“Sebastian!”

She cried his name, as though begging for surrender, but he did not listen. Instead he increased the pressure of his tongue, willing her over the edge.

At last, her whole body went taut, before she succumbed to her shuddering climax. Her body shook as waves of pleasure overcame her; the muscles of her womanhood lapping against Sebastian’s fingers.

He waited a few moments for her to return to Earth, his cheek resting against her thigh. When at last her breathing slowed, he emerged from his worship, with a feeling of satisfaction almost as great as if he taken his own release.

Almost.

Sebastian pulled himself up the bed and took Mary in his arms. She looked at him in bleary confusion, her eyes hazy with sated desire.

“What was that?” she questioned, her voice thick and sleepy.

“A small demonstration of the pleasure I can offer you,” Sebastian replied, dropping a kiss upon the crown of her head.

“Oh,” was the only reply she could muster.

Sebastian pulled her against his chest, savouring the warmth of her body. As a rule, he did not linger long in the beds of his mistresses, but he was reluctant to leave. He pulled the heavy blanket over them, cocooning them in warmth.

“There’s so much more I can show you, Mary,” he whispered, as he tenderly stroked her hair. “If you will just let me.”

He awaited her response but, to his surprise, the only sound he heard was of her soft, steady breathing.

She had fallen asleep.

Rather than feel insulted, Sebastian felt strangely touched by the trust shown. Mary shifted in her sleep, so her back was to him, and instead of slipping away as he usually would, he curled his body against hers and threw a protective arm across her body.

I’ll just rest my eyes, he told himself, as his eyelids grew heavy, just for a moment…

The last thing he recalled, before he drifted into slumber, was feeling completely at peace.