The dukes pet, p.11
The Duke's Pet, page 11
“You’ll see.” He stepped up to a shelf, scratched his head for a moment then plucked out a book. “This is the one.”
He set it in front of her. The cover and binds were leather and it was thick and heavy. A layer of dust sat on the top.
He blew it, the dust fluttering in the air then floating over the opposite side of the table.
“What you’re going to do,” he said, “is copy out the alphabet.”
“The alpha...?”
“Alphabet. It’s all the letters required to read and write, twenty-six of them. Once you have them memorized we can work on their sounds and how they’re put together.”
Jemima stared at the letters on the page. She recognized most of them but didn’t understand how to use them.
“You’re going to teach me to read?”
“Yes.” He tapped the paper. “Now set to your first task.”
She swallowed as a well of emotion opened up inside of her. The duke really thought she was worth the effort of teaching.
“We have limited time,” he said, stroking her hair. “But I’ll have you understanding the basics before you leave.”
He straightened suddenly and stepped away, turning so she couldn’t see his face.
Jemima had the funny feeling he didn’t like talking about her leaving.
“Off you go,” he said, his voice a little sharp. “And I will check it over when you have finished.”
She returned her attention to the paper and began to carefully copy the letters. She knew the ones in her name, she’d seen that written down before, but with most of the others she struggled to remember the sounds they equated to on the tongue.
After a while she reached the end of the alphabet. The duke noticed and he came to see her work.
“You have done a fine job,” he said after a moment.
“You really think so?”
“Yes.”
Knock. Knock.
“Enter.”
The duke straightened as the door opened.
Mrs. Cook appeared, holding a laden tray.
“Here, let me.” He rushed up to her. “I can take it from here.”
He took the tray, which was clearly heavy.
“Thank you, my Lord.” She dipped her head and backed out of the room.
Jemima’s stomach rumbled. She was hungry again, very hungry.
“Tea?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
He poured then gestured to the sofa. “Sit and eat, then you can continue your studies.”
She moved to the sofa, sat on the soft cushion, hiding a wince as her ass pained her, then took the offered tea.
He set before her a plate of small sandwiches and pastries. “Eat.”
Chapter Thirteen
After high tea, the duke took to his easel again.
Jemima sat at the desk and picked up the pen. She considered writing out the letters once more but had another idea. Flicking the paper over, she picked up the pen. In her mind’s eye she recalled the reeds she’d used for weaving when she was on the farm. They grew by the river, straight and tall with thick bulbous brown heads.
Carefully, she began to draw a single reed, enjoying the way the pen glided on the paper leaving behind the image in her mind. On and on she added detail, all the tiny lines, the dots on the head and a few extra leaves at the base.
Daylight began to bleed into dusk and shadows stippled the room.
Eventually the duke let out a loud yawn and placed his palette and brush down. “I have finally finished this painting, and just as the light is fading.”
“Yes, it is.” Jemima didn’t look up from where she was completing a second reed, smaller than the first in the corner of the paper. It was closer up, of the head and she’d added extra detail.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I... I finished the letters so...”
“So you drew, in ink.”
She sat straighter. “Do you like it?”
He picked it up, held it at arm’s length and studied it. “Why, my little kitten, it seems you have quite the knack.”
“Really? You think so?”
“It’s different, in ink and all one color, but yes, I like it.” He paused. “What is it?”
She giggled. “It’s a reed, a bull reed.”
He laughed. “I know, I just wanted to see your face when you thought I couldn’t recognize it.”
Her smile stretched her lips and balled her cheeks. It was clear the duke did like her attempt. And for him to like it, a knowledgeable experienced documenter of flora, that was high praise indeed.
“Perhaps,” he said, setting it on the desk, “when you have done your reading lessons tomorrow, we can find you something else to draw in ink.”
“I’d like that, very much.”
“Good.”
The clock struck seven.
He glanced down at himself. “Damn it, I am very messy again and it is dinnertime.”
“You are messy.” She reached up and wiped at the green paint on his cheek. “But it does not matter to me.”
“Are you sure?” He set about tucking his shirt in then rolling down his sleeves.
“I have lived on a farm, my father used to come in smelling of the fields and with half of them on his boots and trousers. He still ate and enjoyed his food.”
“I should try harder though, when I have company, your company.” He glanced around, spotted his cravat and wrapped it around his neck. He held out his arm and escorted her from the study, across the hallway, and into the dining room.
Once again it was set for two, with the candles and fire lit. The food was already there.
“What have we tonight?” He lifted the silver warmer from one of the plates. “A pie, a specialty of Mrs. Cook’s. Sit and eat, this will do you good.”
Jemima tucked into the hearty meal. The pastry melted in her mouth, the jelly around it was sweet like berries, and the meat in the middle tender and herby. Each mouthful was a delight.
Mrs. Cook was as good as her name, and an excellent cook. She could see why the duke held onto her, despite her ailing health.
“What are you thinking as you eat so quietly and diligently?”
“I’m sorry.” She set down her fork. “Was I gobbling my food?”
“A little.” He smiled and popped a small chunk of pastry into his mouth.
“I was thinking...” She hesitated, not wanting to overstep the mark.
“Go on.”
“That perhaps Mrs. Cook could do with some help.” There, she’d said it. It had been playing on her mind and she just hoped it was the right thing to do.
“But the food is good.” He drew his dark eyebrows together. “Why would she need help?”
“It is, very, but this is a big house with many rooms.”
“And only me here... usually.”
“It’s still a lot for her to cope with, especially as her sight is fading.”
“I agree I am a messy sort, but I do not request her to tidy my study, or even my bedroom.”
“No, but...”
“Please say it.” He set down his cutlery. “I promise I won’t be offended.”
She was more worried he might sack Mrs. Cook.
“There are lots of dusty corners in this house, cobwebs too, and the rugs could do with beating and the windows and panels a polish.”
He sat back and glanced around. “It looks okay to me.”
“In this candlelight, yes, but not in the day. It’s a beautiful house, Sir, grand and with many precious pieces of furniture. They really should be better cared for.”
He sighed and reached for his wine. “I guess you’re right, but I’m not very good at having people in the house, servants. It takes me a long time to get used to them being around.”
“Does that include me?”
He reached for her hand; it was cool from where he’d been holding his glass. “No, you I have gotten used to being around surprisingly quickly.”
“And it is agreeable?”
“Very.” He smiled and kissed the backs of her knuckles.
She allowed herself to melt a little as he gazed at her with such affection. She’d drop the subject of Mrs. Cook for now; there’d be another time for that.
When they’d eaten their meal, Jemima stifled a yawn. Despite a good night’s sleep it had been a long day, emotionally wearing too, plus her ass was sore.
She wriggled on the chair, needing to change position.
“Come.” He stood. “Let us retire.”
A quiver of nerves tightened her belly. They were to go to bed again, as male and female but not man and wife. Was tonight the night the duke would claim his purchase of her?
Much as losing her virginity made her anxious, she was also drawn to the duke and how he made her feel. If he decided that now was the time, she would be at peace with her lot.
They climbed the stairs in silence, and when they reached the bedroom, they found it bathed in the silvery glow of moonlight.
For a moment Jemima stood and stared, marveling at the magical quality of the moon’s rays as they slipped over the furniture.
“It’s a full moon,” the duke said, stating the obvious.
“It’s beautiful.” She stared up at it through the window.
“Yes, it is.” He stroked her cheek. “Very.”
She shifted her attention to him and smiled. “Are we to be intimate now?”
“In a manner?” He gently set his lips over hers. “Are you anxious to rid yourself of your maidenhood?”
“Not overly so... but I’d like it to be you, Sir.”
“It will be.” He kissed her again. “But not tonight. Tonight you have another lesson to learn, little kitten.”
“What is that?”
“Soon you will see.” He undid the first lace on her dress. “Loose this dress and get into bed.”
She took the dress off, then the stay, conscious of him watching her, then stalled at the side of the bed, wondering if her chemise should also be removed.
“No, they can stay,” he said a little sharply. “I think that would be better for my self-control.”
“Self-control?”
He nodded. “Into the bed.”
Again the sheets were cool but she didn’t think of it for long, because the duke was undressing.
She admired his wide chest and broad back, and then his long lean legs with a sprinkling of hair on them. When he removed his undergarments, his cock was revealed.
For a moment he stood utterly naked and bathed in moonlight.
Jemima knew she’d never seen a more beautiful man. She’d also never seen a cock before so the sheer size of it, sticking outward from his body, had her nerves tripping over themselves.
He ran his hand through his hair, showing a dark patch of underarm fluff that matched that on his chest and around his cock. Then he walked to the bed and slipped between the sheets.
“Tonight,” he said, sidling up to her, his body warm and familiar, “you will learn how to please a man with your hand.”
“My hand?”
“Oh, sweet girl, you really are so innocent, it delights me.”
“I’m pleased to delight you but... but surely you’d wish for someone a little more experienced. It’s only for a week and—”
“Shh, no talk of this ending, and no, your inexperience is most appealing.” He reached for her hand. “Feel me,” he whispered. “Feel my manhood.”
Her heart was pounding as he guided her hand to his cock. Once there he wrapped her fingers around it and placed his palm over the top of hers. He squeezed, showing her the correct pressure to apply.
“Sir!” He was so hard and stiff, his flesh warm as if over steel.
“Give me strength, your little hand...” he murmured on a groan. “Stroke me, like this.”
He moved his hand, taking hers with it, traveling to the base then up to the tip.
His shaft stiffened further and his body tensed at her side. He let out a long sigh as he released his grip on her.
His reaction thrilled her; she wanted more, she wanted to see and feel him more.
Propping up onto her elbow, she flicked the sheets back so she could see him, and what she was doing to him.
“God help me.” He looked down at her hand on him.
She worked him harder, a little faster too. His cock peeked from her fist each time she touched the base of his shaft.
His hips were lifting and falling in time with her hand. His breaths had quickened.
After a minute he arched his neck and closed his eyes.
“Sir.”
“Don’t... stop...”
She guessed she was doing it right, pleasing him, and a smile spread on her face.
A drip of warm liquid seeped from the slit on his cock, the moonlight making it sparkle. She collected it up on her next swipe to the top of his cock and used it to smooth her way.
“Oh... I’m going to...” He fisted the sheet at his side and stared at her, his teeth gritted. “Do not... stop doing... that...”
“I won’t.” Her arm was aching but nothing would distract her from her task.
For a moment it seemed as if his pleasure was more pain—his face was etched with tension, his breath held, and his abdominal muscles tense. But then he released a bliss-laced roar and sprang forward. Ropes of seed burst from his cock, landing on his belly.
Jemima kept working him, her own body buzzing with excitement.
“Come here.” He curled his hand around the back of her neck and drew her down for a kiss.
It was a wild, passion-infused kiss that had her trembling and falling into him as if she was exactly where she belonged, here in this bed with this man.
“You’re good at that,” he said against her lips and seeming to sag, as though his body was relaxing every last muscle.
“I had a good teacher.”
“There was quite a lot of natural talent going on.” He chuckled.
She memorized the sound of his laugh along with the sound of his pleasure. She’d lock it away and take it out when she was missing him, when she was no longer at Hillcrest.
Don’t think about that now.
He pulled up the sheet and then tugged her into an embrace. “You can let go of it now.”
“I can?”
“Yes.” He kissed the top of her head. “A man always needs a little recovery time.”
“And a woman doesn’t?”
“No, not always.”
She released his cock and placed her hand on the center of his chest. His heart was slowing and his breaths calming.
“Sleep now,” he said, stroking her arm. “Sleep now, my love.”
My love.
His last words of the day also got tucked into her memory.
Chapter Fourteen
When Jemima woke, the moonlight had been replaced with sunlight. She was still locked in the duke’s arms and he was snoring softly.
She wriggled free and looked up at him. His stubble was apparent on his jawline and his long dark lashes cast small shadows on his face. His brow was soft, no worry lines, and his lips slightly parted.
But he must have sensed her moving for he pulled her closer and then cleared his throat. “You’re awake.”
“Yes.” She tucked her head into the crook of his neck, inhaling the masculine scent of his skin.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes. Did you?” she asked.
“The first very satisfactory sleep in a long time.”
“I am pleased.”
“Thanks to you.” He kissed her head.
A wave of self-satisfaction came over her. It was good that she’d pleased her duke.
“Did you dream?” he asked.
“Not that I remember.”
He was quiet for a moment, just gently stroking her upper arm that was out of the sheet. “What do you dream of in the day?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Real dreams. Your wants and desires for the future.”
She ran her finger over two freckles on his left collarbone. “My future?”
“Of course, your future.”
“I can tell you what I didn’t dream of, and that was finding myself at The Rose and Thorns.”
“No, I’m sure you didn’t. Though it did lead you here.”
“True.”
“So what would you like to happen? In the years ahead of you.”
“I suppose what every woman wants.”
“Which is?”
“A kind husband, children, and...”
“Go on.”
“And to be able to read and write, so I can teach my children.”
“We’re working on that.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip.
“What else?” he asked. “I sense there is more.”
She propped onto her elbow so she could see his face; she wanted to judge his reaction. “I’d like to achieve something, over and above wife and mother duties, more than just surviving.”
He traced his finger down her nose, then over her lips to her chin. “Tell me about this achievement.”
“For a while I thought perhaps it would be to set up my own shop, selling the baskets I weave. Or perhaps become a governess and see children blossom from my teachings.” She paused. “Not that I know much to teach them.”
“But I can see you have great capacity to learn.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “And then yesterday, with my drawing I started to think I’d like to spend more time studying nature. I grew up outdoors, I understand the seasons and its effect on the land. If only I had the chance I could write about that, or document it as you do in pictures.”
“I like all of those ideas, but what I like most is...”
“What?”
“That you have ambition, drive. It’s most important for the future of society.”
She smiled but then it dropped.
“What is making you sad?”
“It’s all well and good having ambition and drive but without a vessel for it, it’s going nowhere. I’m going nowhere.”
“Don’t say that.” He pushed back the sheets and blanket. “We are all going somewhere.”
He stood with his bare behind facing her.
All thoughts of reading and writing, drawing and weaving left her. The duke had a fabulous ass. If she could get away with it, she’d feel it all over, kiss it and squeeze it. Learn the shape and texture of his buttocks so she’d never forget.
