Behind the Duke's Door Page 3

  “Finchley is arranging things. Soon I’ll be duchess and you’ll be a laughingstock.”

  Elizabeth numbly continued moving her feet, but without grace. For the first time, she noticed Violet’s dancing partner. Michael Finchley, Harry’s odious cousin. That was twice now she’d seen them together—first at her wedding, and now here. What could this mean? Her face flushed and suddenly her elegant gown constricted her breathing and tangled around her ankles, making her feel caught in a boa constrictor’s embrace.

  Arthur noticed her difficulty and swept her off the floor, hurrying her toward the back of the ballroom, where open doors out to the balcony allowed in a cooling breeze. He gestured to Harry across the room, who hastened over.

  “My lady, are you ill?” Harry inquired, all solicitousness, as befitted his station.

  “I’m fine,” she gasped out. “My gown is too tight and the heat overcame me.” She fanned her face and leaned into Arthur’s strength.

  “Nonsense, Lizzie. That horrid cow said something to you. Don’t lie to us. Tell us what she said to upset you so.” Arthur continued to support her weight, but angled his head to look into her eyes.

  She bit her lip, reluctant to mar the evening with Violet’s bile, but Arthur’s and Harry’s weighted stares forced her to speak. “She told me to enjoy my time as a duchess for it would soon be over. She said Finchley was ‘arranging things.” What do you think she meant by that?” Anxious, she glanced at Harry, to gauge his reaction to the threat.

  He nodded soberly. “It’s as I suspected. My cousin does not see the wedding as enough of an impediment to his threats to out me as a molly. We’ll have to think of some way to completely disprove him.” He took Elizabeth’s arm away from Art and guided her to a low bench framing the back wall between glass doors. After seating her, he sank down beside her.

  Arthur followed and crouched in front of them, resting on his haunches. “I have an idea,” he said, with an entirely too wicked grin livening up his handsome face.

  Harry and Elizabeth looked at him, waiting for whatever dastardly, brilliant plot he’d come up with.

  Arthur leaned in closer. “Here’s what you’ll need to do….”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Are you comfortable?” Harry asked for the second time.

  “Perfectly,” Elizabeth replied. Though in truth, she was glad the room was dark except for a candle or two. She felt sure her skin flushed bright red where the bodice of her dress gaped open, revealing her breasts to Harry’s gaze, and any who happened upon Lord Jamesian’s library. Which according to her calculations should be any minute.

  Right on cue, Arthur’s booming voice echoed down the hall. “I do not mean to doubt the veracity of your words, Lady Hesterbridge, but I am positive the sonnet you refer to is Sonnet Seventeen, not Twelve.”

  A few indistinct murmurs classified Lady H.’s voice, and some higher pitched ones indicated she and Arthur had gained an audience.

  And the show was on.

  As the voices and footsteps drew closer, Elizabeth and Harry stepped into an embrace, kissing with passion. Harry’s cravat and waistcoat lay discarded over the back of the sofa they leaned against. His shirttails hung free of his trouser waistband.

  They made sure to stand in profile to the door, so there would be no question as to whom the Elusive Duke was kissing. Harry pressed his hips against her belly and drew her close, wrapping his arms around her waist and placing his hands on her lower back. Elizabeth tried to incorporate all she’d learned of kissing in the past few days.

  Their tongues dueled while her breath quickened. Though she knew the kiss was for show, her body couldn’t help its response. It remembered all too clearly the amazing sensations of Harry’s penis deep inside her, with Arthur massaging her breasts. She wanted that feeling again. Craved it and would do nearly anything to gain it once more.

  She felt Harry’s body harden in reaction to her ardor, and he deepened the kiss. They were so wrapped up in each other, they barely noticed the second act of their quickly written farce, when Arthur opened the door gallantly for Lady Hesterbridge.

  A loud gasp from the woman and a quiet cough from Arthur brought Elizabeth and Harry back to their position in the library. Exactly how they had planned it. Caught by the biggest gossip in the ton.

  Harry stepped away from her and shielded her from view, after ascertaining all visitors got an eyeful of their dishabille. “Lady Hesterbridge,” Harry exclaimed, invoking her name with all his ducal airs. “Pardon us. I felt overcome with passion for my new wife. I’m sure you understand, and remember well the early days of your marriage.”

  Lady H. sniffed. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. Hesterbridge and I had an arranged marriage. None of this love foolishness to mar a perfectly decorous evening.”

  “I trust you’ll say nothing of our folly to anyone.” Harry smiled at her, convinced the quickest way to negate her silence was to ask for it.

  “Certainly not,” the lady huffed. “Perhaps you should take your wife home to a proper place to… to…overcome your passion.”

  “A splendid idea,” Harry agreed.

  “Come.” Arthur took her elbow. “Let us leave these two lovebirds.” He led Lady Hesterbridge from the room, tossing a wink behind him as he exited.

  The thick, carved wooden library door shut and Harry stepped away from Elizabeth, leaving her bereft without his touch. Had he been totally unaffected by the kiss? His grin did nothing to dispel the arousal coursing through her. She smiled at him, but her mind tore through reasons to get back in his arms.

  “You know, the sooner we make a baby, the sooner you can be back with Arthur and leave me alone,” she offered.

  He looked thoughtful, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted. Suddenly the library door opened and Arthur walked in, an earsplitting grin on his face. “Well, the stage is set and the audience believed it. I left Lady H. with a group of her closest friends. She couldn’t wait for me to walk away.”

  “Excellent.” Harry beamed.

  Elizabeth remained silent. Wonderful. Now all of London would think her a trollop willing to tup her husband in public. She’d agreed to the farce, because it thwarted Violet and Finchley, but it still burned to have literally and figuratively exposed herself as she did. Her silence attracted the men’s attention.

  “Lizzie, don’t be sad,” Arthur comforted her.

  “I’m not,” she replied.

  “Then what is the…oh.” Arthur nodded in sudden understanding, though she hadn’t said a word. “Harry, your wife is aching.”

  An alarmed look passed over Harry’s face. “Are you ill?” He reached out to place a hand on her forehead.

  “Not that kind of ache, you fool. The kind of ache you have. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that cockstand in your trousers.”

  “Ah.” Harry nodded.

  Arthur turned, walked to the door and with a snick turned the key to lock it. “I find myself aching all of a sudden. What shall we do about it, since there is no possible way to return to the ball? I’ll never recreate Harry’s magnificent cravat without Addison’s help. And, after Lady Hesterbridge’s gossip, it is expected you escaped to your carriage to finish.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open as her staid, regal husband yanked his shirt off over his head and pushed his trousers down.

  “Wife?” He extended a hand to her and waited with an expectant air.

  Who was she to disappoint him? After all, it was her legal wifely duty to submit to her husband’s desires.

  “How shall we do this?” Art asked as he unbuttoned his long trousers.

  Harry grinned, a devilish glint in his eye. “Elizabeth, do you remember what Arthur did to me to other night?”

  Her mind raced with the possibilities. “When he put his…in your backside?”

  “No, not that. I’m talking of when he was on his knees in front of me with my cock in his mouth.”

  His blunt language shock
ed her to her toes and set her skin on fire. The image of Harry’s large penis in Arthur’s mouth was blazoned on her memory. She nodded in silence.

  “I want that,” Harry ordered.

  Disappointment boiled in her. Watching was okay, but she’d wanted to participate.

  Then Harry said, “Are you willing?”

  What was he asking? Did he want her or Art? Her confusion must have shown, because Harry took charge of both his lovers in the room.

  He turned to Arthur. “Art, please take care of Elizabeth. Make sure she’s wet enough for me to enter. I want to watch you in her mouth. Okay, love?” He paused to embrace Arthur with an openmouthed, tongue-sucking kiss that had Elizabeth panting and dying to join in. Harry’s take-charge ducal personality was coming out. It was a total change from his first hesitant foray into bed with her. Gone was the tentative lover and in his place was a masterful commander.

  Art pulled back from the kiss, a grin on his face, ready to obey his betters. “C’mere, Lizzie.” He gestured to her with a crooked finger.

  She stepped eagerly toward him. The bodice of her dress drooped around her waist from their early charade. It was the work of minutes for Arthur to unbutton the rest and help her out of it. She stood, skin dotted with goose pimples, in the darkened room. Arthur walked her around to the other side of the sofa and bade her to sit. He knelt in front of her, grasped each of her ankles and hooked them over his shoulders.

  She felt completely exposed to his view and his touch, but waited with bated breath for him to do something. Nothing happened. With a whimper, she daringly lowered her own hand to the lips of her vagina and tapped with one finger. Arthur followed her movements with an intent look.

  “Patience, Lizzie. I’m just planning my strategy.” He turned to look up at Harry. “What is your desire, sir? Fingers or mouth?”

  Mouth? Lizzie wondered. Whatever could that mean? He was going to talk her into pleasure? Her ignorance was removed a few seconds later when Arthur lowered his head and lips to kiss her curls.

  She opened her mouth to object. This love play was altogether too shocking, and besides, it hadn’t felt particularly good. Her protest died a quick death when Arthur’s tongue flicked out to roam deeper between her vaginal lips. Her head fell back against the sofa and she unintentionally tightened her legs around Arthur’s shoulders, forcing his head even closer.

  His tongue worked magic on her, petting and caressing till she was a mindless mass of woman writhing on the couch. Her inner muscles clenched and spasmed with their proximity to that elusive, fantastical pinnacle of pleasure. Just as she reached the precipice and felt her body about to leap over the edge, Arthur pulled away.

  “She’s ready, Harry.”

  Elizabeth’s eyelids flew open. How dare he stop? She looked to Harry to lodge a complaint about his tease of a lover, but only a whimper escaped as she saw her husband standing a foot away, cock in hand. He’d obviously enjoyed watching Arthur pleasuring her. His penis looked larger and harder than before. She estimated both his hand and her own hand could fit around it. In fact…she wanted to stroke it. Now. She sat up and reached out to him, but he shook his head.

  Still in his masterful mood, he ordered Arthur to lie flat on his back on the rug.

  “Elizabeth, kneel between Arthur’s legs,” Harry commanded.

  Dutifully, Arthur spread his legs, making room for her to get on her knees. It was hard to miss his penis jutting from the juncture at his legs. It stood out from a nest of blond curls.

  “Art, show her what you want.”

  Arthur reached a hand and tugged her head down till his cock nearly touched her nose. “Open your mouth, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Do what feels natural. Make me feel good.”

  His hypnotic voice drew her in. She was dying with curiosity to touch him. Their earlier foray into bed had not assuaged her interest in the male body. They’d allowed her to lie back and be touched. Now she got to do some touching of her own.

  With one hand, she reached out and stroked his phallus. Arthur smiled encouragement.

  “Tighten your hand around the base,” he instructed. “Then use your mouth.”

  She followed his orders, fascinated by the silky smoothness of his skin. Yet the muscle under it was hard as wood. It made for a fascinating contrast. Slowly, she leaned down and flicked her tongue over the smooth tip of his penis.

  Warm, slightly salty.

  “More,” Arthur moaned.

  She complied, taking as much of his cock into her mouth as she could manage. In order to fit more, she had to lower her torso and raise her bottom into the air. She wondered what Harry was doing behind her. If he still had his hand on his privates.

  His hands on her rear startled her and she choked slightly on the shaft in her mouth. But she shifted into a moan as Harry knelt behind her and rubbed her exposed intimate flesh with his penis. She remained wet from Arthur’s earlier attentions, and the head of Harry’s penis probed slightly, stretching her.

  From this position, it was easy for him to slide all the way in, filling her. He gave her no quarter and immediately began to thrust up against her backside, pushing her mouth deeper onto Arthur. For several minutes, silence reigned, punctured only by her high feminine gasps of delight and deeper male moans of pleasure.

  A musky scent of arousal permeated the air, mixed with Arthur’s cologne and the spiciness of a brandy Harry had drunk earlier.

  Harry moved in and out harder and faster, till she was pushing back against him, loving the slap of her bottom against his hips. Arthur, too, demanded her attention, lifting his hips off the floor to keep her mouth covering the majority of his shaft.

  She broke first, releasing a scream as an orgasm rippled through her. And still Harry continued his relentless thrusting. Arthur let out a shout suddenly and her mouth filled with a warm, slightly thick liquid, which she swallowed in her surprise.

  Arthur’s shout gave way for Harry to push once, then twice more before releasing his thick, hot seed into her. She collapsed under his weight onto Arthur, and Harry followed suit, once more squeezing her between their lovers embrace.

  “Fantastic, Lizzie. You’re a natural,” Arthur groaned. “The only question remaining is how do we escape without being spotted?”

  She began to giggle at their predicament, but her ever practical and take-charge husband sorted through the piles of discarded clothes. Soon all three were dressed and tiptoeing through the hallway, out a side door and around to Harry’s waiting carriage.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Three weeks later

  Elizabeth sat down at her husband’s elbow and glanced at his plate, piled high with ham slices and eggs. Her stomach conducted an unpleasant little flip and she waved off the servant delivering her usual breakfast.

  “Just toast, please,” she instructed.

  Harry lowered his newspaper to peer at her. “Everything all right, dear?” he inquired.

  She nodded. “Just a touch of a stomach ailment. I’ll feel fine after a good ride through the park. No Arthur today?”

  “He’s calling on his brother this morning regarding some estate business. He’ll meet up with us later.”

  She nodded again and began to nibble at the dry slices of bread set in front of her. Her mind wandered in and out of memories of the past weeks being mistress of her own home. It was everything she’d dreamed and more. She’d imagined planning weekly menus and flower beds with the housekeeper and gardener, but the passionate nights with her Harry and Arthur had never even entered her thoughts. yet, oh, how delicious they were. Perhaps today in the park she could convince the men to wander down an unused path to see where it took them.

  Harry’s newspaper rustle disturbed the direction of her thoughts. She turned to him.

  “Elizabeth, I just read something that has me thinking.”

  She looked at him and waited for him to continue.

  “I read an announcement that Lord and Lady Firthingham have been delivered of a son.”<
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  “Lovely news for them,” she commented.

  “Elizabeth, do you think you could be with child?” His cheeks reddened, as if such a subject was too indiscreet at the breakfast table. Laughable, really, when one considered just last night he’d had his fingers deep in her arse.

  She paused to think about his question. Her stomach had been a bit queasy lately.

  “When was your last monthly?”

  She counted the weeks, then her eyes widened as she grinned at Harry. “You know, I just may be. I am about two weeks past when I should’ve…you know.”

  “That’s marvelous. Now you won’t have to put up with my perversions.” He lifted up his newspaper again, shielding his face from her view.

  Her heart sank at his thoughtless words. Of course Harry thought she’d be happy about this. Most Englishwomen would be appalled at the bedroom activities she’d engaged in, all to keep her husband happy and able to perform. The trouble was she wasn’t like most Englishwomen. Never had been. She’d discovered a sensuous side to her that thrilled at exploring new boundaries with her two lovers, and would be terribly sorry if it were to end.

  She yanked his newspaper down. “Harry, you are not perverse, and I…”

  A smile lit his face. “Can I take that blush to mean you’ve enjoyed your time with Arthur and me? ‘Cause we’ve loved being with you. Even if you are pregnant, feel free to knock on our door anytime.”

  “Well, it’s only guesswork at this point. Perhaps we should continue our bedroom activities until we are absolutely certain.” She took a large bite of toast to feign nonchalance at Harry’s response. As if it didn’t matter one whit if her husband kept visiting her bed.

  “Excellent, m’dear.” His comment came from behind the paper, which had gone back up. He softened his response by reaching a hand around to cover her arm and give a gentle squeeze, then lowered the paper to look at her. “All the same, I think it best if we went strolling instead of riding in the park this afternoon. I know you’ll never keep your horse at a sedate walk but will go hieing off to all and sundry. I should’ve known what I was getting into from the moment you fell out of the tree and on top of your brother and me.”