Behind the Duke's Door Page 2

  CHAPTER THREE

  Harry and Arthur stood as still as Elgin’s marbles while she tiptoed closer. Arthur continued to grin. A serious expression tightened Harry’s lips.

  “Elizabeth? Are you sure? Do you even understand what Arthur’s talking about?”

  No words rose to her lips, so she simply shook her head. No, she was not sure, but it seemed the thing to do if they were ever to accomplish their goal. She took another step closer to the men.

  “Good girl, Lizzie,” Arthur encouraged. “Slip off your gown. Here, I’ll help you.”

  “I’ll help. She’s my wife.” Harry reached her just as Arthur’s hands lifted her hem. Together, the two men raised her nightgown up over her head till she stood before them nude as the day she was born.

  Curiously, she felt no shame, only interest in what came next. Seeking courage, she placed her hand on Harry’s broad bicepS and used him to hold up her quavering body. He noticed her dilemma and solved it by leading her over to his large bed, covered with dark blue and ivory quilts. Art followed, stripping off his britches as he walked.

  Harry helped her onto the massive bed. “What will you have me do?” she whispered softly.

  Harry’s smile felt like a blessing. “Nothing. Lie back and relax.”

  She smiled up at him and gasped when Arthur’s weight joined his on the bed, each flanking her prose form. Her eyes widened as Arthur leaned over her to give Harry a deep kiss. It was petty of her, but someday she wanted to be kissed like that. With love and passion. As one, both men turned their attention from their kiss and back to her.

  Arthur used one finger to circle her nipple. Harry followed suit, and she bit her lip against the pleasure of their gentle touch and the visual effect of both masculine hands touching her very sensitive chest. Who knew her nipples could inspire such a reaction in the rest of her body?

  “Art. I’m ready now,” Harry announced, and made as if he was going to lie on top of her again.

  “No.” Arthur stopped him. “She’s not ready yet. I promise if we take a bit more time to touch her it will go better for all of us. All right, Lizzie?”

  She mutely nodded at them.

  Arthur’s fingers continued their exploration around her breasts, then lowered to her belly. He leaned down to place tiny, nibbling kisses across her shoulders and down to her bosom.

  Oh, my. It felt marvelous. Goose bumps that had nothing to do with the temperature dotted her skin. She released a languorous sigh and shifted and arched till her spine nearly rose off the bed of its own volition.

  Harry used one hand to caress her thigh in long, sweeping strokes, each time coming closer to her vagina. Her thighs started to fall open, but she clenched them back together.

  “No,” he told her. “Let go. Spread your legs. Please.”

  Her fists clenched into the covers at her sides and she lay still for a minute, debating. Then, inch by inch, her legs spread, opening up to the men’s view. She turned her head, not wanting to see their reaction, but then when the silence dragged out she couldn’t help but wrench her gaze back to them.

  Harry knelt at her side, staring down at the intersection of her legs, a studious look on his face that felt completely incongruous to the moment.

  “Harry?”

  “Hmm?” He kept staring.

  “Harry!”

  He looked up, startled. “What?”

  “Please stop staring. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

  A stripe of scarlet stained each of his cheeks. “My apologies. I’ve just never seen one up close before.”

  Now it was her turn to blush. She could feel her face flame, and when she glanced down, she could see the pink spreading from her neck to her breasts.

  A burst of laughter from Arthur had both Harry and her whipping their heads around to see the joke. “Harry, the consummate scholar. Only you could turn this intimate adventure into a scientific moment.”

  Love carried in every syllable of Arthur’s teasing words.

  “May I remind you, you are about to deflower your virgin wife. A little focus if you please,” Art reprimanded.

  “Oh. Right.” Harry shut his mouth and went back to caressing her thighs. Finally, one of his hands grew bold enough to tickle the curly, crisp hairs that shielded her.

  She could feel dampness spread as one finger traced a line from the top to the bottom of her sheath. His finger stroked lightly, then a little bit harder.

  Her skin flushed at Arthur’s trailing kisses along her collarbone and breasts.

  “Ohh,” she moaned, and spread her thighs just a little more.

  “That’s it,” Art encouraged. “Is she getting wet?”

  Harry nodded as she felt another wave of pleasure at Arthur’s scandalous question. How did he have such knowledge of a woman’s body?

  “Now, gently put a finger in her,” he told Harry. “I’ll show you.”

  She felt herself yield and open to his probing finger. Her eyes closed and she pushed all thoughts out of her mind save concentration on her body’s response to Harry’s and Arthur’s attentions. Excitement grew, as did the pace of Harry’s finger movement. In and out. Ohh, had anything felt more thrilling?

  “You like that, don’t you, Lizzie? You’re getting so soft and wet.”

  She could form no words to Arthur’s whispered question. The pleasure rolling through her made her think of fireflies and lightning and…oh, God, she was nearing a precipice of some sort.

  Without warning, Harry removed his finger from her and sat back on his haunches. “Arthur. We’re ready. Help me.”

  Art raised his head from Elizabeth’s chest and pulled her up by her shoulders to a sitting position. Deftly, he slipped to sit behind her, becoming her pillow.

  “Lean back against me, darling,” he whispered in her ear, his beard-stubbled cheek grazing her skin. She complied. His arms encircled her and his hands covered her breasts, massaging gently.

  Harry loomed over them and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to plant her feet wide and open herself to his hips. He took his shaft in hand and guided it to her damp entrance. She felt filled to the point of pleasure-pain as he pushed into her passage. Her gasp was missed at first by both men, who kissed ardently over her shoulder, squeezing her tight between their embrace.

  Arthur rubbed her upper arm. “It’s all right, Lizzie. It’ll only hurt this first time.”

  His grin took some of the discomfort away and let her focus on the whorl of sensations enveloping her.

  Every inch of her body, both front and back, felt heated, and tingled from the two men she lay between. Bliss rained down on her and covered every bit of skin. Then Harry began to thrust.

  Each push of his hips brought her buttocks back against Art, whose naked body cradled hers. His erection pressed in at the crevice of her backside, adding an extra layer of sensuality to the moment. Harry and Art had been lovers for years, and their comfort and ability with one another was on display for her. All she had to do was lie back and enjoy the ride.

  And what a ride it was. Harry slid deeper and harder inside her, increasing his pace until she clung to his shoulders. She felt no instability, since Arthur anchored her firmly, thrusting up against her and keeping pace with Harry’s rhythm. The three of them climbed higher and higher until Harry let out a shout and gave a last shove into her.

  She moaned and released her hold on reality as her body spiraled onto a plane of pleasure she’d never dreamed possible.

  She collapsed back against Art, her mind a mush of scattered thoughts mostly focused on the amazing sensual experience.

  She barely felt Harry gently lift her and place her to one side on the bed. Eyes closed, she lay back and slowed her breathing, enjoying the little flutters of sensation still jumping in her. A male groan had her opening her eyes and looking around.

  Nothing could’ve prepared her for the shock of seeing Harry on all fours, with Art on his knees behind him. Arthur’s penis slid deep inside Harry�
�s buttocks.

  Elizabeth jumped off the bed. She opened her mouth to excuse herself and leave them to their privacy, but only a squeak emerged when she tried to force words from her suddenly drier-than-a-desert mouth.

  Leaving her nightrail crumpled on the carpet of Harry’s suite, she slammed the door between their rooms, leaped nude into her own bed and yanked the covers over her. Shivers trembled through her body and she began to giggle, while tears ran down her face. She’d done it. Was no longer a virgin. And it had been marvelous, so much more than she’d expected. Her mother had whispered of pain and indignity. Elizabeth had felt only bliss, like a foreign princess with two handsome subjects to serve her.

  However, the conclusion of the bedroom activities chafed her the wrong way. How she wished she hadn’t fled. What must they think of her? But it had seemed too overwhelming, too foreign to stay and watch Harry and Art make love.

  A knock at the door made her sit up with the counterpane pulled tighter than a corset against her. “Yes?”

  Please don’t let it be her new maid. Harry had refused to allow Lucy, her childhood maid, to accompany her here. He maintained a very small trusted staff that knew or guessed about his proclivities. An unknown face could disrupt the harmony he’d worked for, and provide more grist for the gossip mill. Elizabeth understood only too well how servants’ gossip could tarnish the reputation of their masters. Hadn’t her brother and family suffered that harsh lesson? No, she’d bent to Harry’s wishes and left Lucy at her parents’ home, but oh, how nice it would be to see a familiar face right now.

  The door opened and two handsome faces poked into the room.

  “Lizzie? Are you all right? Can we come in?” Art asked, walking over to perch on the foot of her bed without waiting for her acceptance. “You left in such a hurry.”

  Harry stood behind him, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other stroking his hair. For propriety’s sake, both men had donned robes before entering her rooms. She appreciated their discretion, though the sight of their muscular, hairy legs still titillated her.

  “I’m fine. I was just…” She trailed off, feeling her cheeks flame. How kind of them to come express concern for her when they must think her a complete trollop. A virgin old maid was supposed to lie still and remain compliant, not moan and thrash about as she’d done. Only at the very end had she displayed any modicum of decency.

  “Don’t be ashamed, Elizabeth,” Harry told her. “You are my wife, and anything we do in the privacy of our bedchamber is our business alone.”

  “I for one enjoyed myself thoroughly,” Arthur declared, stretching out on the bed, a decadent portrait of Dionysus. “Were you fine with everything we did? What made you run?”

  “The last bit,” she admitted, Art’s casual manner disarming her. “It looked as though you needed some privacy.”

  Arthur and Harry exchanged a deep look at her words, and Harry shrugged, a bit of red staining his cheeks. “That last part was spontaneous. I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

  At his words, Arthur jerked to a sitting position. “Don’t apologize, Harry. That’s the way we make love, and there’s nothing wrong with it.”

  Elizabeth had never heard such vehemence in his tone before. Usually he was all laughter and teasing. Clearly, Harry had hit a sensitive spot. Or there was more depth to Arthur than she’d previously suspected. Oh dear, she didn’t want to cause a rift between the two men. She reached out a hand to both. “No, don’t fight. The last part was just…surprising. I…I didn’t suspect—” She stopped abruptly, words failing her.

  Arthur relaxed and laughed. “Well, of course not. You were an innocent. Not like your governess covered that particular topic.”

  “I should say not,” Elizabeth huffed, a smile creeping onto her face. “And I’m no longer an old maid, thanks to you two.”

  “That’s right,” Harry said. “I propose we celebrate Elizabeth’s status as the duchess of Walthingburn. No longer will she be relegated to the corner of ballrooms, enduring stares and whispers. As my duchess, she will waltz proudly in any ballroom. What do you say, Elizabeth? How do you want to celebrate?”

  She grinned at Harry’s suggestion. He was right, a celebration was in order. “A ball,” she decided. “Lord and Lady Jamesian are hosting an engagement ball for their daughter a few evenings hence. Let us go there.” She neglected to mention that Sarah Jamesian had been one of her primary tormentors, always whispering and repeating rumors of Elizabeth’s ineligibility for marriage due to her brother’s “unnatural” ways. Let Lady Sarah choke on her own bile when Elizabeth sailed in as a duchess, while she contented herself with a mere baron.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  From her perch at the top of the stairs, the ballroom looked like a garden in full summer bloom. Fanciful feathers topped women’s elaborate hairdos and male dandies wore coats of lilac, primrose and every other color found in a flower bed. Dancers and gossipers alike swayed and twirled from an invisible breeze.

  “The duke and duchess of Walthingburn,” boomed the butler’s voice, announcing their arrival. A silence descended in the ballroom as everything froze, immediately followed by the roar of hundreds of whispers.

  They’d only been married recently.

  How did she bring the Elusive Duke up to snuff?

  No wedding trip?

  Elizabeth leaned into the solid strength of her husband, who gripped her arm and escorted her down the stairs. Thank goodness for his strength, because, although she’d never looked more elegant, she could barely breathe in the costume Arthur had dressed her in.

  “Stand tall,” Harry murmured. “You look beautiful.”

  His words lodged a smile in her heart. It was true, she’d never looked finer. Pastels went the way of her virginity when Arthur arrived a few mornings past with a dressmaker in tow. According to Harry, no expense was to be spared in finding her the most elegant, most beautiful gown for the evening. Arthur’s charms worked wonders on a sour-faced seamstress, and she’d remade a dress into an emerald-hued wonder.

  Elizabeth felt every inch the duchess wearing the gown into the ballroom, though she had to remind herself to stand tall and keep her hands at her sides. They kept involuntarily creeping up to cover her bosom. The dress and new corset created a miracle in showing her breasts to their best advantage. The one disadvantage being she felt a bit faint from the upward pressure of the corset.

  “Shall we dance or show you off first?” Harry murmured as they entered the fray of people too eager to offer their felicitations on their newly married state. Only a bold few dared to offer a comment that implied surprise at seeing the couple at a ball so soon after the wedding.

  “Dance,” she said, sticking to their plan of making an appearance, then leaving early to set off rumors that they couldn’t stand to be out of their bedchambers too long.

  As they swept toward the dance floor, she caught the attention of a tall American sea captain who’d been cutting a swath through the ton this season. Even she had not been immune to his tall, dashing good looks. She tossed him a smile behind a deft maneuver with her lacy fan. Her attention to the captain did not go unnoticed by Harry, who raised a brow at her little flirtation.

  At that moment, Arthur walked up, perfectly turned out in black coat and daring new full-length trousers. He looked every inch the dashing gentleman about town. Quite a few debutantes’ stares followed his progress across the room.

  “Walthingburn. Lady Elizabeth.” He inclined his head just the right amount to display his deference as well as his long-standing friendship with Harry. No evidence of the sexual passion between the two men was in sight. They clearly had practice at this deceptive game. As for herself, Elizabeth whipped out her fan again and waved it violently in a bid to cool off her memories of their earlier bedroom activities.

  “May I steal your new duchess for a dance?” Arthur addressed Harry.

  He nodded and relinquished his hold on her arm. Elizabeth followed Arthur’s lead to t
he melee of couples engaged in a lively country dance. With ease, he inserted her into the line of dancers and off they went.

  A delighted grin grew on her face. Though she’d attended balls for years, she’d been a pariah relegated to the corner, and rarely stood up with anyone other than her brother, or Harry when he’d bothered to dance at all. Usually he could be found discussing horses or property management with other gentlemen closer to her father’s age. It was lovely to be partnered with one of the more handsome, dashing men in the room.

  “Eyeing the American, Captain Bradington?” Art teased at their first close circle. “Careful, Lizzie, we don’t want gossip spreading.”

  His jest made her laugh. As if Captain Bradington would notice the likes of her. Though, dressed as she was, with her newfound knowledge of sex, she felt she could conquer any man in the ballroom.

  She whirled, spun and moved more lightly on her feet than ever before, until one turn took her face-to-face with Lady Violet. A smile that looked more mean than gracious was plastered on Lady Violent’s face.

  “Enjoying yourself?” Violet hissed as they twirled in a circle around each other.

  Elizabeth refused to let the maliciousness ruin her evening. She’d married a duke and was safe now from the threat of becoming a poor relation dependent on her brother or other relative. She could afford to be generous to Violet, who remained unmarried with few prospects. Her dowry was not enough to make potential suitors overlook her nasty reputation. Few men Elizabeth knew wanted a harpylike shrew managing their households.

  Elizabeth continued to smile at Arthur and dance as if nothing was amiss, but Violet couldn’t leave well enough alone.

  “Enjoy your time as a duchess. It will soon be over,” she threatened on the next spin.

  Surprised by her words, Elizabeth stumbled, but Arthur’s innate grace and athleticism caught her misstep and guided her into the next movement.

  All the other dancers faded away in her mind, save Violet and Arthur. “What are you talking about?” she queried on the next go-round. She focused on Lady Violet’s next words.