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The Greatest Escape [MrAdam]

The rest of the world had ceased to exist. For Robert, there was just the two of them. Lips temporarily apart, but liable to be drawn together at any moment by a desire that could not be resisted or denied, but merely held in check. Their eyes were locked... he was looking at her the same way that she was looking at him because he was looking the same way at her as she was looking at him. Everything was circling inevitability, and the circles were decreasing in size as they approached the singularity.

"I do mean that" he answered, his voice a whisper. He kissed her again, because he couldn't not kiss her... the pull was too strong for him to resist, even if he had a mind to. But only for a few moments, which were enough to sustain him for a few more moments of not kissing her.

How easy it would be to just leave it at that. To let everything else be left unsaid, implied, unspoken... with any missing detail or misunderstandings to be dealt with later, when he was more able to marshal his thoughts beyond his immediate desire for her. But no. He must be honest with her, about who he was now, and what responsibilities that entailed. Open-ended promises had a habit of ending badly, and the thought of hurting or disappointing or misleading Estelle was serious enough to cut through even a mind befuddled by the sensations of her bare breasts against his surprisingly muscular chest, and, and... just the sheer sound of her voice, familiar and yet transformed.

"Robin will promise you whatever you want promising. But Duke Robert... he's a Duke. You remember your Machiavelli, I'm sure. The Prince should keep his word, but should never give it lightly, and be willing to break it should it become necessary. Don't trust the word of a Duke. You can trust Robin, though... and the Duke will listen to Robin except in extreme and largely improbable circumstances."

"Robin kept a little notebook" he continued, "I still have it somewhere. He titled it 'Things to Do When I'm Duke'. The first few pages are a mixture of petty prattling, preposterous projects, and purple prose. The first sensible suggestion is just three words, written in bigger letters and with greater emphasis than anything else in the book. Three words, Leafy."

"Get. Estelle. Back"

"I wrote that after they told me you'd gone. Robin knew what he was talking about. And although he'd probably be disgusted by...... all this kissing. I, on the other hand, am delighted."
 
Estelle whined when Robert had the nerve to bring up Machiavelli while in bed with her. It was an annoyingly familiar sound, not unlike when young Robin had insisted that she let him finish another essay before playing with her. Now that she was in his arms again, promising to keep her close, she didn't want any infringement from reality. His ducal responsibilities, the inevitable disgust and disappointment she'd foster by mingling with his family — hadn't she already spent far too long fussing over them?

Alas, Robert was too clever. She could kiss and tease and massage him to his heart's content, but he would not compromise that frustratingly sensible character of his. Even if they were in a fit of passion, where illogical declarations of love could be made, he still wouldn't let his judgment be fogged up by desire. Too much was riding on his responsibilities, that precarious balance between devotion to a lover and dedication toward everything else.

Before she could give him too hard a time, however, he had to go and bring up his notebook. It was strange, really, just how strong a reaction a few words from the past could tear from her. Get Estelle Back. To think, he really had missed her, that all her longing for him had at one time been reciprocated despite everything!

Slowly, Estelle's pout melted into something softer. With a sigh, she slumped forward against him, curling her arms around his back while her breath tickled his bare shoulder. "Are you worried that I'll be the one to leave again? Are you already fussing over how you're going to explain someone like me to your family? You've seen how I've changed, but maybe… no. I can't blame you for being cautious when it's clear I've lost any kind of status within the court."

Estelle squeezed him closer, hating the words that insisted on spilling out from her mouth. "I was always a half-breed, Robin. Perhaps it really was in my nature from the beginning, to want more than I deserved and get punished for it. I know my place now, better than I ever did. I won't ask you to do something that will hurt your family. I just… right now, I don't want to be separated from you. No matter what you need me to be, I'll become it, if it means I can stay right here with you."
 
There was a longer discussion to be had. About the past, and about the future. About what had happened when Leafy had left, and what had happened between then and now. Between then and turning up here, with someone as awful as Baron Lineham. She'd talked about wanting more than she deserved and being punished for it... whether she meant by fate, or the gods, or by people in general or people in particular he didn't yet know. There would be time. There would be time to find out, time to discuss. But her story was her own... she could tell him or not, as she chose.

And tonight... now... what she said she wanted most was to stay with him. And what he wanted most was... her. And she was deliciously distractingly gloriously naked, and not only could he barely resist her a moment longer, he had no wish to resist her a moment longer. He wanted to make good on his promises.

"Let me make one thing crystal clear", said Robert, his tone serious, but enough of a raise of one eyebrow to undercut the full force of his ducal intonations. He laid his hands firmly on Estelle's bare shoulders. A gesture both reassuring and possessive. Reassuringly possessive. Or possessively reassuring.

"Your place now...." he continued, suddenly rolling and half-manoeuvring, half-wrestling her onto her back, with him kneeling astride her, supporting his weight with his forearms.
"... is wherever I say it is, if you want that too. There's lots I can't do, Leafy, not without cost and consequences, but I'm still Duke, and if I want to take a lover, I can. If I want to employ a terrible maid, I can. If I want to ensure that you never, ever have to go back to the likes of... him. I can. I don't think you're a halfbreed, Leafy, but if others do, well, that makes it easier in a way because you're not a threat to anyone."

"And...." he continued, feasting his hungry eyes on her, "you don't look like a halfbreed."
 
Something about that tone, too warm to be despotic yet too firm to be mistaken for gentleness, did strange things to Estelle. The first time she'd ever heard anything approximately close to it was when he'd caught her trying to pilfer an apple away from his neglected picnic with his sisters. When he'd 'ordered' her to share his goodies with her, however, that had been experimental. He'd still been a boy who didn't yet know the full weight of his father's mantle, who still cowed his head to his parents because that was the right thing for a young, would-be duke to do.

There was nothing that wavered in Robin's voice now. His gaze had a steeliness to it that made her believe that he really could carve out a place for her, even if it was met with disapproval. Certainly, his mother would not be at all pleased — regardless of Estelle's station in life, after all, she was ultimately a distraction away from Robert's marital duties.

Other important details about Duke Robert very quickly became apparent when he all but pinned her down on his bed. It wasn't difficult to throw her off balance, given how shamelessly she'd spread herself over him, but this duke, this knave had learned how to make a woman fall exactly as he liked. The warm spread of his hand over the back of her neck, the playful mockery he made of her thin wrists by holding her fast with ease — this was new in every way that was good.

Despite having put up no real resistance, Estelle still found herself breathless once she was all but pinned on top of the mattress. With wide, hopelessly vulnerable eyes, she listened to what could only be described as his orders. Being his lover, his maid, his ward, all of it was more than she deserved.

Of course that didn't mean he'd escape any teasing. Estelle frowned at the sound of "halfbreed" on his lips, then slowly raised her hand up against his chest. She hadn't forgotten where young Robin's ticklish patch along the side of his ribs was, and that particular technique of feathering her fingers across it had only been perfected over time. In the space of a breath, she slipped her fingertips over his ribs and grinned. "I like it when you're bossy, Your Grace. Still… would you really say I'm not a threat just because I'm prettier?"
 
Estelle took him by surprise, and so did the response of his own body. Robert had been luxuriating in the look in Leafy's eyes and the look on her face after he'd rolled her. Told her what her place (or places) would be, and reminded her of the power that he possessed. He was sure it wasn't just the sudden movement that had caused her to catch her breath like that. She was his now... his triumph utterly complete, though quite who that triumph was over was less clear... probably over whatever forces or fates had separated them. Over anyone who would disapprove of Estelle lying naked in his bed.

So focused was he on her expression, he saw her hands move only very late. He realised her intent later still... perhaps it was the hint of a smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips, or a glint of devilment in her eye ahead of any movement of her hand. But even then, it took him a moment or two longer to remember that he had been ticklish there. Once. But he wasn't now, or at least he didn't think he was. He was already starting to think about how he would respond to her failed attempt. He'd tensed a little in anticipation, but he was expecting to resist her attack comfortably with barely a response.

He was entirely wrong. A sudden bark of laughter. His eyes widened in surprise and pained pleasure, faux-utraged by her temerity but delighted by her newfound skill. Surprised at his own weakness and the betrayal of his own body. He laughed again at his own weakness and his own reaction, joining in the joke, letting her have her triumph for a moment. But only for a moment.

"Right!" he said, grinning, "Right, that's it!". He shifted position, putting his knee between her legs in order to sit up, so he no longer had to rest on his forearms, which made him much more vulnerable. Both arms now free, he tried to grab her wrists, one in each hand, scrambling and almost fishing for them. Once he'd caught both of them, he gripped her slender wrists in his strong hands and pinned them to the mattress, just higher than her head.

"You're more a threat than I realised, my pretty" he said. He realised that although he had her wrists pinned, it cost him the use of his own hands to do it. "I am trying to give you pleasure beyond your wildest erotic imaginings, Leafy. Am I going to have to use my cravat to stop you from trying to tickle me while I do it?"
 
Ah, the sound of his laughter! Not that polite nonsense, perfectly tempered so as not to be offensive, but the proper bark of a man teased by his own weakness. She adored it, unable to keep from laughing herself even as he shifted about and caught up her wrists in his hands. He'd definitely grown much stronger, faster, wiser to her wiles — but she'd spent time developing more than a few curves, too. Part of her wanted to test him, to see just how many times a wily, circus-raised brat could escape his grasp.

But this new sort of game between them, the one that had her blood rushing to her cheeks when his knee found that forbidden place once again? It wasn't one she wanted to win. There was bright affection in those pale blue eyes as he pinned her hands against the mattress, and her chin tilted cheekily upward, as if inviting him to try going for her vulnerable, exposed neck.

"Oh no, Your Grace! Mercy, I beg you. Anything but the cravat! You know it's only appropriate with the permission of the ladies present, and only on a warm night or after a 'particularly energetic' dance." Estelle's smile grew wider and more wicked still, always challenging him to break the rules just that little bit more.

"The way I see it, however, you're woefully unprepared. My hands you may tie, but then you've got nothing to muffle me saying that 'my pretty' is among the worst tripe I've heard, even for a novice playing a bandit onstage. If I don't tickle you for the crime, however will you learn?"
 
Robert didn't answer at first. Her neck, almost proffered to him, was just too tempting. Without letting go of her wrists, he leant forward, nuzzling and kissing her bare neck. And if that movement shifted his knee a little, well... that was just an unforeseen consequence. His lips and his tongue on her neck were light and playful, tickling, grazing and teasing. After a few moments he resurfaced again, his breathing a little heavier, her wrists still pinned.

"You can't criticise me for hack pantomime villain stage dialogue when you've just said 'mercy, I beg you' with something approaching a straight face. And anyway... even if my crimes against literature are greater than yours... a point I am not quite ready to concede... surely your response shouldn't be to try to tickle me, but to try to improve my writing. You want to make yourself useful to me, Leafy, as more than just a terrible maid and a quite spectacular piece of eye candy...."

He paused for a moment, his gaze running over her. A silence falling. He found he was holding his breath. Perhaps she was too. Still he held her wrists.
"You tell me what I ought to be saying" he said, quietly, seriously, "when I've got my childhood friend, now all gloriously grown up, naked in my bed and completely at my mercy. With her wrists pinned to my mattress, mere moments from the silky, seductive embrace of my cravat."

"What do I say then, Leafy? Or do I just bind your wrists and pleasure you until you cum again?"
 
Short of a deep crimson flush and a nonsensical murmur from her lips, Estelle didn't have a proper answer for him — not when he made good on the offer to capture her wrists, not when he kissed her into even sweeter submission, and not throughout the entire night while she squealed, squirmed, and quite near screamed with breathless, red-hot delight. He made her weak in all the ways she'd vowed not to be, revealing the needy, drooling, trembling fool who had become positively drunk on his affection. If she tried to hide her face in shame, that hot, honeyed voice of his would find her ear again, taunting and teasing her relentlessly into attacking him with hungry, sloppy lips.

Quite how many times had he made her climax that night? The answer had drifted away somewhere into the wee hours of the morning, lost in a haze of pleasure as she all but collapsed under the weight of their exertion.

That was how Estelle's first ball ended, anyway. When the morning inevitably came, marking the memory as fact and not mere fantasy, she still managed to be surprised. There she was, wrapped in the softest sheets money could buy and the lingering warmth of a still sleeping Robert beside her. She stretched her legs experimentally, groaning when her thighs and sex answered with very distinct soreness. Even her arms were spent after trying to wrestle with the boy who was no longer a boy. A warm bath would likely cure most of it, but before that, she had a few thoughts just a mite bit more pressing.

Propping herself up on one elbow, she allowed herself a good, long look at the duke who remained asleep… like a perfect little seraph. On his back, with his head tilted toward her, he looked far more peaceful than he had any right to be. Even his messy blond hair had its charms, all soft fluff that begged to be nuzzled and stroked. If she could just make this quiet, perfect hour of the morning last forever, she'd never ask anything of the powers that be again.

But the moment would end, and all the things they'd danced around the night before would have to be examined — by Robert's merciless sense of duty and wit, no doubt. The circumstances that had led to her relations with Lineham, the prospects of her remaining as his lover and servant, the story of how and why she'd disappeared from the ducal palace in the first place — he'd want to wrap his mind around all of it. Kind as he'd proven to be, she had a feeling that sobriety and daylight would cast her circumstances in a much less attractive light. It was the way these affairs simply worked: the sweeter a man talked under the private veil of night, the faster he was to shake off all notions of attachment once the sun rose.

Estelle didn't get so much as a minute of peace before that nagging voice rattled its ugly way back into her head. You knew this was temporary from the start. He's not yours. Never will be.

She sighed and ran a hand over her hair, trying to think of literally anything else her mind could occupy itself with. Robert was still there beside her, wasn't he? She leaned closer, the better to lay her head on his chest, just below the strong curve of his shoulder. There, she could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, let the warmth of his skin bleed into hers. After a long moment, she let her eyes flutter closed again, as if she could put off the inevitable advance of the day simply by ignoring it.
 
A common literary device was to have a protagonist wake after some portentous or momentous event and wonder whether he or she had dreamt it, or whether it was real. Duke Robert wasn't sure if this was just hack writing or whether other people experienced waking from a deep sleep very differently from him. When he woke, he always knew where he was, who he was, and what was going on within moments. There was no time to speculate or equivocate about what might or might not be real, or what might or might not be a dream. In any case, his dreams were never that vivid or that striking to be confused with reality for long, except by the sleeping mind.

No. When Duke Robert stirred from sleep, he already knew that the previous night was real. Already knew that, yes, however unlikely or unexpected, Leafy had returned to him. And returned transformed. She was his old friend, but also his new lover. And that combination was beyond intoxicating. Twelve Gods, what a woman. Beautiful, obviously. But sensual and sensitive, she was... absolute erotic perfection. He had always been a giving and generous lover... he loved giving pleasure, and took pleasure in giving it. For some reason… perhaps their prior acquaintance, perhaps some kind of carnal compatibility, perhaps some kind of deep, deep connection... but it felt like their lovemaking combined the frisson and novelty of the new, and the knowledge and familiarity of the established. For some reason, he seemed to intuit how best to pleasure her, and twelve gods did she respond.

The question on his mind as he gradually awoke was not whether last night had been a dream, but whether Estelle would still be in his bed when he opened his eyes. The question was quickly answered... he could feel the weight of her head on his chest and hear her soft breathing. Why did he think she might be gone? Perhaps because she had vanished before, perhaps because... well, some things... some nights... just felt too good to last.

He allowed his thoughts to drift for a moment. It had been a good night. Estelle first and foremost, but also... he had navigated a difficult conversation with the Count de Marboux that could set two of his dearest friends on a path towards happiness. A man who was one of his father's friends, who he still found intimidating. As if he were the child, and the Count the grown-up. He had seen off the scoundrel Lineham, which - he had to admit - he had rather enjoyed. And that whole thing with Lucie seemed... a long time ago and a long way away. Maybe Fabien had been right. There was a first time for everything.

"You awake?" he asked, softly, fingers stroking her hair. "You want some breakfast? And some breakfast tea?"
 
Estelle's eyelids fluttered open when Robert spoke. How long had it been? An hour? A few minutes? Whatever the case, it was still too early. She mewled out a tepid groan in protest, stirring only enough to curl herself closer to him. Breakfast sounded nice enough, but the catch of his fingertips through the silken mess of her hair was so much better. Couldn't they just stay like that forever?

Alas, surely not. He'd no doubt start quoting Solon or Aquinas, both of which were well known to have regarded laziness as a progenitor of evil. And a good duke surely could not tolerate evil in his kingdom, much less his bed.

It was much too early for philosophy, even it came straight from the lips of her bright-eyed, golden haired Robin. So Estelle rose up from his side like a snowdrop stretching after a long winter, propping herself up on her elbow once more. From that lazy angle, she could meet Robert's gaze, and a smile immediately blossomed on her face. Only he could awake from a long night of 'partying' and sex with eyes as clear as a dewy raindrop. That his very first thought was for her and the thing he knew she loved most touched her more than she cared to admit.

Which was probably why the next thing the good duke was met with was her pillow stuffed directly into his face.

"I never cared for breakfast tea — too strong. As I've gotten older, though, I've gained some appreciation for it, albeit with the inclusion of milk." Estelle carried on languidly, a touch quicker to properly roll out of bed before Robin could enact his revenge.

She didn't, however, leave the comfort of the mattress. There was an almost ethereal air about her as the sun struck her pale skin, as if it couldn't quite warm the porcelain of her lithe frame. The messy curls of her long hair tumbled over one shoulder in a curtain of white gold, a stark contrast to the deep, deep blue of her eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed, one leg delicately folded over the other. In nothing but her white silk stockings, she was forever shameless.

"How does he do it, I wonder? Choosing whether to have his breakfast first or if he should wander over to a hot bath instead — I do not envy his hardships." Estelle sighed dramatically, running a lazy hand through her own hair. "Do you suppose he could be truly despotic and have both at the same time? Iced tea in a hot bath… now that's just inviting trouble."
 
"Or perhaps you'd prefer -"

Robin's question was muffled into silence. He took hold of the unceremonial and unprovoked pillow that had been thrust into his face with the intention of swinging it, but his target had anticipated his intention and squirmed away. He could have pressed his counterattack, but the sight of Estelle sitting on the edge of his bed pushed such childish antics from his mind entirely. Instead, he laid back, hands behind his head, smiling in appreciation. He was naked except for the silk sheet draped over him from the waist down.

"Oh, it's not a difficult decision. It takes longer to heat enough water to the required temperature than it does to prepare breakfast. It depends on how hot you want the water, and what you want for breakfast, of course. But the question is somewhat moot... I tend to bathe after vigorous exercise rather than first thing in the morning. But judging from the position of the sun, I'd say it's no longer first thing in the morning, and... well, I'm going to count last night as vigorous exercise."

"I could, of course, arrange for you to have iced tea in a hot bath. Unfortunately, due to an unaccountable shortage of water there's only enough for one bath. So we'll have to share, I'm afraid. Given that, I'm not sure I trust you not to throw iced tea all over me. Partly because of your recent history of unprovoked assaults... tripping me up for one, attacking me with a pillow for two. But also, I may not be able to keep my hands off you, which would make any assault entirely provoked."

"Now technically, if you're going to be my terrible maid, you ought to be fetching the drinks and arranging the baths. But you're new, and I like you, so just this once I'll let it slide!"
 
"Only once, hm? I'd wager a bet you'll be saying that far more often than you think." Estelle flashed a wry smile his way as she idly combed her fingers through her messy hair. It was just like Robin to take the high ground, but even when they were fussing over baths and breakfast she felt a playful tension between them. The way Robin sat back and watched her — he may well be simply enjoying the view, but she couldn't help overthinking because it was him. If she wanted to crawl back into bed with him, she'd have to face the consequences of her little attack. Otherwise, there was no other choice but to get on with the day.

She had a feeling she'd end up over that lap of his soon enough, but not just yet. Estelle leaned toward the shirt he'd long since discarded on the bed, dragging it out from the tangle of sheets where it lay. The fabric felt buttery smooth under her fingers, the coolth of it more than welcome as she tugged the shirt over her shoulders. With the same doe-like grace she'd sashayed her way into his manor with, Estelle stood up from the bed and slipped her arms inside the stolen garment. The ghost of his figure positively dwarfed hers, the cuffs of his sleeves drooping off her fingertips while the generous collar threatened to spill off her thin shoulders. Rather than buttoning it up, she tugged the edges of his shirt tightly into one hand, almost as if she were wearing a robe, and made her way over to an end table where a dainty silver bell sat.

With the delicateness of plucking a glass rose, Estelle took up the bell in her hand and turned to give Robin a look as mischievous as it was fond. "I've always wanted to do this, you know. Before any contracts are signed, I am first and foremost your guest. Just this once, I shall condescend to assist my slow and clumsy host, who is not yet out of bed." She slipped the bell's handle between her fingers and flicked her wrist, ringing out the delicate summons for a servant.

She was answered by a knock at the door so quickly it was almost frightening. That could only be Connor.

Sure enough, it was the smooth and immaculately dressed manservant himself who greeted her on the other side of the door. He was the picture of professionalism, not so much as blinking at the sight of Robert's scantily clad lover.

"Ah! Good morning, Connor. His Grace would like his bath drawn — and only his, I should stress, on account of what can only be an inexplicable water shortage — and some breakfast brought up to the room. If you could also indulge us both with some iced tea of any fruity variety, I'd be much obliged." Estelle's smile came more easily than she was used to, but she kept her tone polite for Connor's sake. As expected, he bowed and assured her that all would be taken care of as quickly as he could manage it all.

Her servant-ly duty complete, Estelle closed the door and plopped back onto the edge of the bed, this time closer to Robert's side. "See? I can be a darling when I'm so inclined."
 
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Robin remained sat up in bed, leaning languidly against the headboard. His gaze did not leave Estelle for a moment as she slipped his shirt on and headed for the door. He wasn't quite sure exactly what it was that was so alluring about a beautiful woman wearing only his shirt (and her stockings), but she seemed more naked than if she actually was naked. Connor was probably the least fluster-able person that he had ever met, but if he were in any inclined towards women, the site that greeted him when he opened the chamber door would have pushed his professional reserve to the absolute limit.

He laughed, hands behind his head, stretching.
"You can be a darling!" he repeated. "When you are so inclined. By which you mean... purloin my shirt and give orders to my servants. Well, I'm glad you've made yourself at home. But for my part, Leafy..."

He paused, twisting round to reach for her, seeking to fold his arms over her breasts and pull her back towards him.
"I would rather have you reclined."
 
"Ha!" Estelle felt him coming for her before his arms even reached around her, but she was happy to be his prize. As his arms squeezed over her breasts (freshly tender from their lovemaking, of course), she squealed and kicked her feet up into the air. For all her hard-earned grace, Estelle was still his easily flustered Leafy.

While a younger Leafy may have done her utmost to escape and restore her sense of pride, however, the matured version found that it was quite comfortable to lay back in Robin's arms. He was warmer than the sunlight that'd managed to streak through the curtains, and the firmness of his chest against her back was more reassuring than it had any right to be. It was strange, wasn't it? — that the mere shape of a person could feel so safe.

Smiling, Estelle let herself relax against him. Her head lolled to the side, allowing the warmth of his breath to spill over the bare, hickey speckled skin of her neck. "What do I live for, if not to satisfy His Grace? I'm glad you take my ladylike inclinations so seriously. Who would look at me and think I was once your 'terrible' maid?"

She couldn't help but wax nostalgic. When she was so close to him, it felt more like minutes instead of years ago when they had been children. Back then, she'd been the bigger one between them, and one of her few pleasures in his palace was snatching him up in her arms whenever she felt so inclined. His fine blond hair was so, so soft, and he'd been so adorably squishy! No one dared to manhandle him — the servants because it was unfathomably disrespectful, and his family because they had worried so much over his fragility. Estelle, however, had been too ignorant and too lonely not to enjoy his squeals as he struggled to wriggle out from her grasp.

The first time she'd hug-attacked him, he'd been so surprised it took him several actual minutes to muster up words to rebuff her with. The second time, he was annoyed by the fact that she'd been able to ambush and hold him so easily. The third time, and the time after that… well. Catching him had simply become a game, one they could tease each other over all while deviously planning for the next attack.

Sometimes, though, after a sore lecture or an unpleasant day, he'd let her hold him just because… well. Just because. He'd never told her why, and in return, she never had to explain why she liked holding him so much in the first place. What a gift that had been, merely having someone to hold!

And now the tables had turned.

Estelle reached up for Robert, cupping her hand over his cheek and gently tugging him closer to rest his head against hers. "If it's too early to talk business, why don't you catch me up on everything I've missed since being away? I heard a number of curious rumors at the ball, and I should like to feel superior knowing I've heard everything from the mouth of the duke himself."
 
Robin shifted position a little in the bed to get comfortable, finding an easy resting place for them both. He moved again when he found Estelle's hair was tickling at him. He gently stroked her hair, smoothing it down. It was striking how easily they seemed to fall into comfortable familiarity.... her lying back against him, his arms folded across her chest. Her squeal had brought a broad grin to his face - his lovely Leafy was so sensitive, and he adored her responses to his ministrations of pleasure. He thought about giving her nipples a little pinch, just to enjoy her reaction, but he decided against it. For now.

"Everything you've missed?" he repeated, "That's a tall order. Well.... father died. Catherine got married and moved to be with her husband's family. But you'd have heard about that. Elizabeth is still here, as you probably saw. Paradoxically, she has chosen to show her displeasure at the prospect of her marriage by acting in such a way as to strengthen the imperative. That situation cannot continue. Perhaps I need to play cupid and find a suitable match, and then forbid her to have anything to do with him in order to drive them together. The course of true love never did run smooth. Speaking of which, my cousin Fabien may or may be about to announce his engagement, assuming he doesn't make a horrible mess of things. Which is by no means a given."

"But the real hot gossip" he confided, in a stage sotto voce, reaching for her hand to kiss it. "... is about the Duke. Apparently.... "
He paused again, looking left and right as if afraid of being overheard, overacting horribly.

"Apparently, a mystery masked blonde stumbled into his path, tripping him up! Can you imagine the scandal! But our handsome, dashing, chivalric Duke protected her honour, took the blame for her literal faux pas upon himself, saving her from a pack of hostile harpies talking of everything from low impertinence to high treason. Later, some report seeing them in intimate conversation on his balcony, and it's said.... it's said that he had her brought to his chambers. Us gossips can only imagine the night of sexual ecstasy the lucky little minx would have been treated to! Poor girl must be exhausted! They say the girl is a rare beauty, but none know who she is. She must be someone ve-ry special to coax the Duke out of his moping. You mention curious rumours..... my dear, I fear you are the curious rumour."
 
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