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OP
OP
- Joined
- Jan 30, 2012
- Location
- Vaucluse, SC
“None,” Gabriel frowned as he appraised the polite, and yet obviously uncomfortable young woman. When the rain had begun, he had seriously considered returning her to her mistress. Now, however, he was glad he hadn’t. Did she seriously believe that his interest in her was professional? He should have found it amusing, he supposed, but it was difficult to will himself into seeing it that way. Far from being affronted, he was utterly annoyed at the woman’s seeming inability to see herself as anything beyond the horridly severe and bland persona she wore like a second skin.
“I am unmarried, Miss Spencer,” he went on slowly in an effort to keep his annoyance at her out of his voice. “While I have had my fair share of Mistresses, I have taken great care to father no bastards.”
What a strange creature she was, Gabriel mused as he tucked his hands behind his back. He stood away from her as his dark grey gaze traveled down the lines of her body. The dress she hid within did a fine job of disguising the body that was hidden beneath, but he had already had a tantalizing glimpse of the truth beneath the fabric. The corners of his mouth twitched as he remembered the warmth of her skin and the subtle curves under that lovely blue gown, and then his attention slid back up to catch her gaze and hold it.
“I thought to court you properly,” he began in a tone that was thoughtful, and yet darkly amused, “but it seems you don’t have the temperament for that. All business, aren’t you?” Gabriel hesitated. What he did and said next may very well make or break this curiosity of his. Eleanora was stimulating in a way that made him deeply curious, and he simply did not want to miss the opportunity to unwrap the enigma she presented.
“Miss Spencer, you are a formidable woman, so I am going to speak plainly. I don’t intend to uproot you from your current employer. Well,” a wicked grin made his dark features looks almost boyishly charming as Gabriel slowly closed the distance between them. “At least, not to be employed by me. I want three things from you, Miss Spencer. I want permission to call on you – only after your duties to your young charge are met. While my finances are such that I could keep you quite comfortably, I wouldn’t dream of threatening your financial freedom. Secondly,” he went on as he raised a hand in the air to bid her to wait and all him to finish. “If you find me amiable, I mean to have you as my Mistress. I am a busy man, and I will not make many demands on your person, but I will make demands.”
Reaching out, Gabriel caught the sharp, and yet delicate chin of Eleanora’s face between his thumb and forefinger to tip her head back as he grossly invaded the woman’s space. “Finally, when in my home, I want you to agree to allowing me carte blanche access to your lovely body. I want you to think carefully before you agree to this, because when I say carte blanche, I mean it. If you will be mine, then you will be entirely mine, and I want this to be perfectly clear. I am willing to pay you a handsome allowance, if it please you, and don’t take that as an insult to your person. I admire whores, they are the only women in the world with the good sense to make men pay for the pleasure of their company.”
Gabriel reluctantly let go of Eleanora’s chin, that tiny skin to skin contact, and he felt the loss of her immediately despite her closeness. “In short, Madame, I want you to allow me to possess you. The cost of that possession is entirely up to you.”
--
“Absolutely, Your Grace,” Colleen had repeated that phrase in at least a dozen fashions through dinner and the following conversation in the salon. Of course, she had been hiding her mirth behind every word spoken in the man’s general direction. He was right, to an extent. The details where important, absolutely. But, the devil was in the details, and the ton was want to ignore the devil as much as possible. The gossip was already circulating, and not a one of them knew the details. A couple versions of the story had already changed. Laurel had heard already reported a story that was entirely fantasy before vanishing into the crowds once more.
However, as the man tucked her hand into the crook of his arm to lead her out into the warm evening, the lass found amusement wasn’t what she felt most. Annoyance was more apt. A since of exasperation that made her spine stiff as he walked her into the garden. They strolled in silence, at a pace that was painfully slow, while the curious onlookers slowly lost interest. They were looking for fresh drama, and when it appeared that there would be nothing new to report, they melted away. Colleen was nearly at the end of paicentce for the man’s desperation for propriety when the giant gave her wrist a yank to pull her off the main path and off to one of the many greenhomes under which oranges, limes, and lemons were grown. The exotic fruit perfumed the air with an overwhelming sweetness.
Colleen had little chance to worry about the sights, sounds, and scents within the orangery as she found herself unceremoniously pushed down onto a padded bench like a spoiled child being put down for a lecture. Above her, the Devil Duke glowered down at her with all his furry. The promise of retribution was vibrant in the man’s pale gaze. Any woman in her right mind should have been horrified by the masculine rage that promised to exact a price from her hide for the damage she had done to his ego.
Colleen O’Donovan had never claimed to be a woman in her right mind.
As the beast of a man bore down on her, Colleen’s heart leapt into her throat. Adrenaline hit her blood in a rush and her cheeks flushed, but it was excitement that simmered in her emerald eyes where fear should have been. He stocked her like some great jungle cat, completely assured that his prey was helpless to his great strength. He stopped a bare inch away from where she sat watching him with a measured gaze, and her lips twitched with the ghost of a smirk before his great weight swooped down over her. Instinct brought Colleen’s hands up to press against the Duke’s chest, holding him off of her even as he pressed a knee between her thighs to push her legs apart and caged her with his arms.
“Did you think you could just embarrass me like that?”
“Yes,” Colleen began, only for her words to halt as an impossibly heavy and powerful fist closed around her dainty neck. His grip was unyielding and his fingers bit into her skin, but he did not squeeze off her air. Her softly panting breaths fanned against his scarred face as she watched his eyes examine her more closely. Colleen felt a rush a feminine power as the shift happened behind his eyes. Oh, he was still furious, but he wasn’t seeing her the way the ton did. She was remarked as unfashionable, homely, unfortunate, but the women called her this because, despite her absurd height, untamable hair, ghastly accent, every man wanted to know if her myriad of freckles traveled all the way down, and if the hair betwixt her thighs was as fiery as the mane on her head. Colleen grinned as her eyes dropped, finding the Duke visible aroused beneath the limits of his breaches. The man was a beast in every way, and that tool seemed as impossibly large as all the rest of him.
“I didn’t just think I could,” Colleen answered slowly as her green gaze slid back up to meet the pale grey of his eyes unflinchingly, “I did embarrass you. Just like that. In front of the heights of the ton. Without a single thought or care. And I would do it again if it damn well pleases me.” His thumb was stroking the side of her throat where her pulse hammered away like the beating of a hummingbird’s wing. The lass made no move to try and hide it, or to remove his hand. He pulled her to her feet as if she weighed nothing. He wasn’t gentle, he did not ask her to stand. But, he did not yank her to her feet either. He simply moved and expected her to follow.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Colleen purred as her hands slid down his chest and over his abdomen. Beneath his clothing was steel wrapped in flesh, immovable and solid, and her fingers twitched for the chance to touch his skin. Bedding the Duke had never been part of the plan. However, now that it was an option, Colleen found herself wet and eager to see what it was like. “You may not think so, but I already have gotten away with it. Unless you plan to punish me,” she asked as her nimble fingers found the stays to his breaches and gave them a tug. The fabric fell away to reveal a sight that made the Irish lass’s mouth water. Had the Devil not had her by the throat, she might have dropped to her knees to steal a taste of him. When her eyes raised once more to meet his own, all he would find in the woman was challenge. “What else have you to threaten me with, your Grace?”
--
Miss Regina Williams, how fickle was fate that it was this particular haughty young miss that set her hand on Frank’s shoulder to insist he waltz with her. The demon within him grinned at the glory of it. Despite the sordid tale around the Williams girls, Regina was fashionably beautiful, popular, and a leading new face in society due to charm and looks alone. While any young miss would have met his needs, soiling this particularly lovely young girl was a mouthwatering opportunity. Her family was nothing, no retribution could touch him, and her only bargaining chip would be torn asunder by his prick.
“Of course, Miss Regina, I would be delighted,” Lord Howard used the girls given name since she was so bold as to use his own, and then drew her tight against his chest as the piece she had selected began to be played. His hand flattened and played out against her back, between her shoulders blades, to press her tightly restrained breasts against his chest so that he could feel them swell with every breath she took. It was beyond forward, and deeply scandalous, but they had already begun the steps, and Regina wasn’t going anywhere until the dance was done. When she became comfortable with being held so close and her hand on his shoulder relaxed, the hand at her back slid down to rest just above the swell of her backside so that, as her turned her, one of her dainty legs would slip between his own. It was barely notable to those that watched them, but for the lovely little miss in his arms, the proof of his arousal would be difficult to ignore.
Frank waited, like the spider he was, for his prey to look him in the eye before he smiled apologetically down at the pretty little miss in his arms. “Forgive me, you are so beautiful, a man cannot help but respond. Those little fools,” he cast his gaze to the young men and boys that chased her skirts and chuckled, “they have no idea what a treasure you are. They are too young yet to know what a man ought to do with a woman such as yourself.”
Coloring modestly, Frank again smiled chastely, “I’m sorry, that was a horrible thing for me to say. You haven’t yet kissed more than a boy, have you, Miss Regina?” It was laughable, hadn’t he played Minnie this way? She had been the haughty leader of society in her heyday, as well. And here, Regina Williams was as brilliantly blonde and refined as his wife and his daughters. Some sickness within his soul made his mouth water as he imagined that Regina looked so much like them, he could be fooled into thinking she was one of his lovely daughters. If he hadn’t already decided, that thought would have sealed Miss William’s fate all the same. She wasn’t flighty, however, and he suspected that he might have to put more than one night’s worth of charm to the girl before she let him under those skirts without undo fuss. All the same, he was going to have her one way or another.
“Forgive me, butt,” Frank glanced around the room as he turned her about the floor, and then dipped his head down to whisper conspiratorially against her ear, “if my wife was as beautiful as you, I’d never let you be anywhere other than in my arms. When you decided you are ready to pick a man for yourself, pick one that cannot bare to let you go.” He kissed her neck gently before he lifted his head and smiled down at her. “I can already tell the act will break my heart.”
--
Voltaire d’Auteur cursed every English man he knew by name as he slipped outside onto the private veranda. Whatever drunken idiot was tottering through the hunting lodge was getting in his way. The late Baron Shelton’s office should have locked up, but he shouldn’t have been surprised that the house door was just as unlocked as the windows and veranda door had been. What sort of fool was the Baroness? Or had she been truly and utterly unknowing of her husband’s political games? Stupid, flighty English women. They hadn’t the convict of character found in the French. A memory of his mistress, Maria Theresa, flash through his mind, and Voltaire ached to me home again betwixt her heavenly thighs, drinking the very nectar of her being. Being a prisoner there was heaven, and a damn sight better than enduring the chilly English summer.
Peeking through the window, however, the French spy was surprised to see – not a teetotaler stumbling around drunk and lost, but Richard Morreland. He was digging around the Baron’s desk, and the tightness in Voltaire’s chest eased. He they were poking around there, then they had no idea what they were looking for. That was good, Renard would appreciate that the Irish woman had yet to be connected to him. Of course, that woman was insanity wrapped in fire, who would ever believe she was a damn shrewd business woman? The political power a woman like that could wield was a dangerous thing.
“Where are they, Richard,” a feminine voice that wasn’t even trying to be quiet made the man start. He very nearly tilted backward of the balcony before regaining his balance. He sighed when he regained his balance, and then peaked within the office once more. A dark, but beautiful woman was glowering at the Englishman.
Something told him she wasn’t there to help Morreland.
“Where are those girls,” the woman hissed, and Voltaire grinned. Another good thing about French women, they never begrudge a man a dalliance, because they had dalliances all their own. “What did you do to them?
She was practically shouting now, and Voltaire leaned back to wait them out. Morreland wasn’t going to be getting any work don at this rate, and the Frenchman would rather not kill the man in front of the woman. That would mean he would never have the chance to find out if she tasted as sweet as she looked.
“I am unmarried, Miss Spencer,” he went on slowly in an effort to keep his annoyance at her out of his voice. “While I have had my fair share of Mistresses, I have taken great care to father no bastards.”
What a strange creature she was, Gabriel mused as he tucked his hands behind his back. He stood away from her as his dark grey gaze traveled down the lines of her body. The dress she hid within did a fine job of disguising the body that was hidden beneath, but he had already had a tantalizing glimpse of the truth beneath the fabric. The corners of his mouth twitched as he remembered the warmth of her skin and the subtle curves under that lovely blue gown, and then his attention slid back up to catch her gaze and hold it.
“I thought to court you properly,” he began in a tone that was thoughtful, and yet darkly amused, “but it seems you don’t have the temperament for that. All business, aren’t you?” Gabriel hesitated. What he did and said next may very well make or break this curiosity of his. Eleanora was stimulating in a way that made him deeply curious, and he simply did not want to miss the opportunity to unwrap the enigma she presented.
“Miss Spencer, you are a formidable woman, so I am going to speak plainly. I don’t intend to uproot you from your current employer. Well,” a wicked grin made his dark features looks almost boyishly charming as Gabriel slowly closed the distance between them. “At least, not to be employed by me. I want three things from you, Miss Spencer. I want permission to call on you – only after your duties to your young charge are met. While my finances are such that I could keep you quite comfortably, I wouldn’t dream of threatening your financial freedom. Secondly,” he went on as he raised a hand in the air to bid her to wait and all him to finish. “If you find me amiable, I mean to have you as my Mistress. I am a busy man, and I will not make many demands on your person, but I will make demands.”
Reaching out, Gabriel caught the sharp, and yet delicate chin of Eleanora’s face between his thumb and forefinger to tip her head back as he grossly invaded the woman’s space. “Finally, when in my home, I want you to agree to allowing me carte blanche access to your lovely body. I want you to think carefully before you agree to this, because when I say carte blanche, I mean it. If you will be mine, then you will be entirely mine, and I want this to be perfectly clear. I am willing to pay you a handsome allowance, if it please you, and don’t take that as an insult to your person. I admire whores, they are the only women in the world with the good sense to make men pay for the pleasure of their company.”
Gabriel reluctantly let go of Eleanora’s chin, that tiny skin to skin contact, and he felt the loss of her immediately despite her closeness. “In short, Madame, I want you to allow me to possess you. The cost of that possession is entirely up to you.”
--
“Absolutely, Your Grace,” Colleen had repeated that phrase in at least a dozen fashions through dinner and the following conversation in the salon. Of course, she had been hiding her mirth behind every word spoken in the man’s general direction. He was right, to an extent. The details where important, absolutely. But, the devil was in the details, and the ton was want to ignore the devil as much as possible. The gossip was already circulating, and not a one of them knew the details. A couple versions of the story had already changed. Laurel had heard already reported a story that was entirely fantasy before vanishing into the crowds once more.
However, as the man tucked her hand into the crook of his arm to lead her out into the warm evening, the lass found amusement wasn’t what she felt most. Annoyance was more apt. A since of exasperation that made her spine stiff as he walked her into the garden. They strolled in silence, at a pace that was painfully slow, while the curious onlookers slowly lost interest. They were looking for fresh drama, and when it appeared that there would be nothing new to report, they melted away. Colleen was nearly at the end of paicentce for the man’s desperation for propriety when the giant gave her wrist a yank to pull her off the main path and off to one of the many greenhomes under which oranges, limes, and lemons were grown. The exotic fruit perfumed the air with an overwhelming sweetness.
Colleen had little chance to worry about the sights, sounds, and scents within the orangery as she found herself unceremoniously pushed down onto a padded bench like a spoiled child being put down for a lecture. Above her, the Devil Duke glowered down at her with all his furry. The promise of retribution was vibrant in the man’s pale gaze. Any woman in her right mind should have been horrified by the masculine rage that promised to exact a price from her hide for the damage she had done to his ego.
Colleen O’Donovan had never claimed to be a woman in her right mind.
As the beast of a man bore down on her, Colleen’s heart leapt into her throat. Adrenaline hit her blood in a rush and her cheeks flushed, but it was excitement that simmered in her emerald eyes where fear should have been. He stocked her like some great jungle cat, completely assured that his prey was helpless to his great strength. He stopped a bare inch away from where she sat watching him with a measured gaze, and her lips twitched with the ghost of a smirk before his great weight swooped down over her. Instinct brought Colleen’s hands up to press against the Duke’s chest, holding him off of her even as he pressed a knee between her thighs to push her legs apart and caged her with his arms.
“Did you think you could just embarrass me like that?”
“Yes,” Colleen began, only for her words to halt as an impossibly heavy and powerful fist closed around her dainty neck. His grip was unyielding and his fingers bit into her skin, but he did not squeeze off her air. Her softly panting breaths fanned against his scarred face as she watched his eyes examine her more closely. Colleen felt a rush a feminine power as the shift happened behind his eyes. Oh, he was still furious, but he wasn’t seeing her the way the ton did. She was remarked as unfashionable, homely, unfortunate, but the women called her this because, despite her absurd height, untamable hair, ghastly accent, every man wanted to know if her myriad of freckles traveled all the way down, and if the hair betwixt her thighs was as fiery as the mane on her head. Colleen grinned as her eyes dropped, finding the Duke visible aroused beneath the limits of his breaches. The man was a beast in every way, and that tool seemed as impossibly large as all the rest of him.
“I didn’t just think I could,” Colleen answered slowly as her green gaze slid back up to meet the pale grey of his eyes unflinchingly, “I did embarrass you. Just like that. In front of the heights of the ton. Without a single thought or care. And I would do it again if it damn well pleases me.” His thumb was stroking the side of her throat where her pulse hammered away like the beating of a hummingbird’s wing. The lass made no move to try and hide it, or to remove his hand. He pulled her to her feet as if she weighed nothing. He wasn’t gentle, he did not ask her to stand. But, he did not yank her to her feet either. He simply moved and expected her to follow.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Colleen purred as her hands slid down his chest and over his abdomen. Beneath his clothing was steel wrapped in flesh, immovable and solid, and her fingers twitched for the chance to touch his skin. Bedding the Duke had never been part of the plan. However, now that it was an option, Colleen found herself wet and eager to see what it was like. “You may not think so, but I already have gotten away with it. Unless you plan to punish me,” she asked as her nimble fingers found the stays to his breaches and gave them a tug. The fabric fell away to reveal a sight that made the Irish lass’s mouth water. Had the Devil not had her by the throat, she might have dropped to her knees to steal a taste of him. When her eyes raised once more to meet his own, all he would find in the woman was challenge. “What else have you to threaten me with, your Grace?”
--
Miss Regina Williams, how fickle was fate that it was this particular haughty young miss that set her hand on Frank’s shoulder to insist he waltz with her. The demon within him grinned at the glory of it. Despite the sordid tale around the Williams girls, Regina was fashionably beautiful, popular, and a leading new face in society due to charm and looks alone. While any young miss would have met his needs, soiling this particularly lovely young girl was a mouthwatering opportunity. Her family was nothing, no retribution could touch him, and her only bargaining chip would be torn asunder by his prick.
“Of course, Miss Regina, I would be delighted,” Lord Howard used the girls given name since she was so bold as to use his own, and then drew her tight against his chest as the piece she had selected began to be played. His hand flattened and played out against her back, between her shoulders blades, to press her tightly restrained breasts against his chest so that he could feel them swell with every breath she took. It was beyond forward, and deeply scandalous, but they had already begun the steps, and Regina wasn’t going anywhere until the dance was done. When she became comfortable with being held so close and her hand on his shoulder relaxed, the hand at her back slid down to rest just above the swell of her backside so that, as her turned her, one of her dainty legs would slip between his own. It was barely notable to those that watched them, but for the lovely little miss in his arms, the proof of his arousal would be difficult to ignore.
Frank waited, like the spider he was, for his prey to look him in the eye before he smiled apologetically down at the pretty little miss in his arms. “Forgive me, you are so beautiful, a man cannot help but respond. Those little fools,” he cast his gaze to the young men and boys that chased her skirts and chuckled, “they have no idea what a treasure you are. They are too young yet to know what a man ought to do with a woman such as yourself.”
Coloring modestly, Frank again smiled chastely, “I’m sorry, that was a horrible thing for me to say. You haven’t yet kissed more than a boy, have you, Miss Regina?” It was laughable, hadn’t he played Minnie this way? She had been the haughty leader of society in her heyday, as well. And here, Regina Williams was as brilliantly blonde and refined as his wife and his daughters. Some sickness within his soul made his mouth water as he imagined that Regina looked so much like them, he could be fooled into thinking she was one of his lovely daughters. If he hadn’t already decided, that thought would have sealed Miss William’s fate all the same. She wasn’t flighty, however, and he suspected that he might have to put more than one night’s worth of charm to the girl before she let him under those skirts without undo fuss. All the same, he was going to have her one way or another.
“Forgive me, butt,” Frank glanced around the room as he turned her about the floor, and then dipped his head down to whisper conspiratorially against her ear, “if my wife was as beautiful as you, I’d never let you be anywhere other than in my arms. When you decided you are ready to pick a man for yourself, pick one that cannot bare to let you go.” He kissed her neck gently before he lifted his head and smiled down at her. “I can already tell the act will break my heart.”
--
Voltaire d’Auteur cursed every English man he knew by name as he slipped outside onto the private veranda. Whatever drunken idiot was tottering through the hunting lodge was getting in his way. The late Baron Shelton’s office should have locked up, but he shouldn’t have been surprised that the house door was just as unlocked as the windows and veranda door had been. What sort of fool was the Baroness? Or had she been truly and utterly unknowing of her husband’s political games? Stupid, flighty English women. They hadn’t the convict of character found in the French. A memory of his mistress, Maria Theresa, flash through his mind, and Voltaire ached to me home again betwixt her heavenly thighs, drinking the very nectar of her being. Being a prisoner there was heaven, and a damn sight better than enduring the chilly English summer.
Peeking through the window, however, the French spy was surprised to see – not a teetotaler stumbling around drunk and lost, but Richard Morreland. He was digging around the Baron’s desk, and the tightness in Voltaire’s chest eased. He they were poking around there, then they had no idea what they were looking for. That was good, Renard would appreciate that the Irish woman had yet to be connected to him. Of course, that woman was insanity wrapped in fire, who would ever believe she was a damn shrewd business woman? The political power a woman like that could wield was a dangerous thing.
“Where are they, Richard,” a feminine voice that wasn’t even trying to be quiet made the man start. He very nearly tilted backward of the balcony before regaining his balance. He sighed when he regained his balance, and then peaked within the office once more. A dark, but beautiful woman was glowering at the Englishman.
Something told him she wasn’t there to help Morreland.
“Where are those girls,” the woman hissed, and Voltaire grinned. Another good thing about French women, they never begrudge a man a dalliance, because they had dalliances all their own. “What did you do to them?
She was practically shouting now, and Voltaire leaned back to wait them out. Morreland wasn’t going to be getting any work don at this rate, and the Frenchman would rather not kill the man in front of the woman. That would mean he would never have the chance to find out if she tasted as sweet as she looked.
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