Confessions From an Arranged Marriage (15 page)

Chapter 15

M
inerva thought fast. If found by a servant, she was confident in her ability to bluster her way through an explanation of her presence in a private area of the house. But she really wanted to overhear the potentially treasonous communications being exchanged in the next room. And suppose it wasn't the duke and the princess in the next room? What if the owner of the house were to discover her?

Moving almost as fast as she thought, she grabbed her skirts and tiptoed across the room to a tapestry-covered screen near the empty fireplace. As the approaching footsteps came in from the corridor, she slipped behind it, just in time.

She heard the newcomer stop inside the room. Holding her own breath, it was quiet enough to sense his.

“Minnie?” The word came softly.

Blake?

“Minnie. You may as well come out. I can see your feathers.”

To her intense annoyance she'd misjudged the height of the screen, or rather forgotten she was wearing a bonnet with extra tall ostrich plumes that had cost five
louis
apiece. She stepped out of her hiding place and scowled at her husband.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered crossly. “And how did you know it was me? This is a new hat.”

Blake raised his eyes to the ceiling. “You're the only person I know who'd do anything this mad.”

“Keep your voice down,” she said, though he spoke barely above a murmur. “I'm trying to hear what's happening through there.”

“No, Minnie, you are not. We're getting out of here. There's no time to explain.” He started in her direction but she dodged him, closed the door into the corridor, and fixed her ear to the door into the next room. Holding Blake off with the flat of her hand and a ferocious glare, she heard two voices this time, one of them male, still speaking in German. Agog with anticipation she tried to make sense of the words coming through the solid panels.

“You are a very bad dog.” At least, that's what it sounded like.

Then a noise like a woman imitating a bark, and a shuffling sound. Minerva shook her head in bafflement and put her finger in her ear, to make sure it wasn't blocked with wax.

“Lick my boots!”

What?

“What?” Blake had reached her side and was crowding her in the door embrasure.

“Ssh!” She got down on her knees and peered through the keyhole. It was a large one and she could see quite a lot of the adjoining bedroom. In her view was the lower half of a gentleman's body, from waist to boots, and she had no difficulty recognizing the somewhat stout figure of the Duke of Mouchy-Ferrand, even without a sight of his florid complexion and heavily pomaded curls. The shuffling noise resolved itself into Princess Walstein, on hands and knees and wearing only her undergarments, crawling into view and preceding to obey her master's command. She really did lick his boots.

Minerva slumped back onto her heels. She considered herself hard to astonish, but this did it. When Blake pushed her aside she put up no resistance. He took her place at the keyhole, let out a ghost of a whistle, and began to shake with silent laughter.

“What are they doing?” she mouthed, but he was too overcome by mirth even for sign language.

Then Mouchy-Ferrand snapped another order, loud and clear. “Into the study. I want you on the desk.” Those handsome boots, presumably licked clean, began to walk. In the direction of the room occupied by Blake and herself.

Without considering what the duke intended, she scrambled to her feet and pulled on Blake's hand, not giving him a chance to argue. “Hurry. They're coming in here. Behind the screen.”

She backed in and they made it just before the door opened. Minerva tore off her hat and hurled it to the floor. Since the space was barely wide enough to hide two adults from view, there was no question of squatting or kneeling. An anxious glance sideways and upwards confirmed that the top of the screen cleared Blake's head, but only by a slim whisker. She returned her head to its natural position and found her nose banging against his chin. Her bosom, despite its modest proportion, thrust into his chest, and their toes touched. When she tried to lean away from the contact only his hands on her hips saved her balance.

Shaking his head and miming the word “no” he hooked his arms firmly about her waist, giving her no chance to escape.

Not that she wished to. Had they not been in such an awkward predicament she might have enjoyed herself. As it was, she clung to his shoulders and the hope they'd escape this place without exposure and public shame. Private embarrassment was inevitable, if they had to overhear more of
monsieur le duc
and the most noble princess's peculiar games. Being an incurable optimist, she hadn't given up on the idea that after they concluded their doggy fun they'd have a revealing conversation about the restoration of Napoleon II to the French Imperial throne.

But first the noble lady, particular friend to an empress, bumped into the room on all fours, barking and yapping as she went. The duke ordered her to bend over the desk. Blake and Minerva were treated to the sound of ripping cloth, then of bare flesh being firmly spanked, accompanied by further barking mixed with cries of pain that sounded, somehow . . . pleased.

Thanks to the shocking book she'd borrowed from Celia Compton, Minerva thought herself well informed about unusual varieties of bedroom activity. She'd never heard of anything like this, nor could she imagine why a woman would enjoy being humiliated and beaten.

Why, then, did she feel hot and achy and desperately aware of her husband's body pressed against hers? She tilted her head again and discovered humor mixed with heat in the dark blue eyes. Her heart gave a little fillip and her chest felt full. She might have fallen backward had he not been holding her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight. For balance, of course. A smile she could only describe as evil crossed that beautiful mouth.

Then it began.

First, quite casually, one hand dropped from her waist to her bottom, giving it a gentle squeeze. An indignant glare was met with self-satisfied denial on Blake's face. His other hand followed suit. As he kneaded he also pulled her against him and she felt hard evidence of his own interest. She resisted the urge to push forward and rub herself against him. This was not the time nor the place!

Blake apparently thought otherwise. Her next sensation was of a breeze about her ankles and her calves. She dropped a hand to bat him off as he lifted her skirt, a fruitless effort. She dared not fight for fear of making a sound. His warm palm found her stockinged knee, gave it a quick squeeze then traveled north, past her garter to tickle the bare flesh of her leg. Her wriggling attempt at escape did nothing but intensify the ache between her thighs and the stiffness of his member, straining against her lower belly.

She was furious and excited and there wasn't a thing she could do. Lord Blakeney was going to suffer the sharp edge of her tongue, just as soon as she could safely give voice. In the meantime she contented herself with finding the lightly bristled skin of his inner jaw and giving it a nip with her teeth. She had to acknowledge his control in keeping his reaction to a silent wince. For a moment or two they stood motionless and she believed he'd decided to behave himself.

Then his hand moved inward and upward, between her thighs and under her drawers.

When contemplating the seduction of his wife, an idea that had occupied his mind much of the day, Blake had envisioned his own large bed as the location. Standing upright in a tight corner, in the same room as a couple indulging their own sensual larks, hadn't been part of the plan. Obedience games and spanking were not anything that appealed to him, and he would have expected his bride to be horrified.

Not for the first time Minerva proved of sterner stuff. Surprised, yes, but by Jupiter he actually thought she was a little aroused by the odd behavior of their unwitting host and his guest. And what started out as teasing provocation on his part threatened to get out of hand. Did she think biting his neck was the way to repel his advances? He had to swallow hard not to laugh out loud.

As his hand crept up the satin skin of her inner thigh, she wriggled to escape but his arm about her waist restrained her. No more than he did she wish to be discovered. She was in his power and, if he wasn't mistaken, reluctantly enjoying it. Soft curls tickled his questing palm and when his middle finger forged inward she squirmed and succeeded not in dislodging him, but in widening her entrance enough for his digit to slip into the heat. Wet heat. Yes, indeed.

Her breathing grew heavy against his chest and her eyelids lowered. She squirmed again but this time, surely, to encourage him, to rub herself against his probing finger. When he obliged her by finding and pressing on her clitoris she emitted a soft breathy sigh, but it didn't matter. Out in the room the Princess Walstein was reaching some kind of peak and becoming very noisy.

Not that he paid much attention. He was engrossed by the girl who was blossoming into womanhood in his arms. He just wished they'd hurry up and finish and go away so he could get Minerva out of here and across Paris to that bed. He didn't want to knock over the screen and cause an international scandal. Regretfully he removed his hand, let her skirts fall. He sensed rather than heard her protest and forestalled it with his lips. He already knew she liked kissing and she'd got better at it. Not content with mere contact, she at once opened to him and sucked eagerly on his tongue at its first entrance. Much as she approached life, there was nothing halfhearted about the way she kissed. It wasn't doing a lot for his control, however. He wrapped his arms about her in an effort to confine them in the smallest space possible.

The Princess stopped yapping and the only sound in the room was panting. He and Minerva simultaneously stiffened and drew apart. Dragging his gaze from her just-kissed mouth, he met her eyes, big and dreamy, but within seconds alert when the other pair began a brief spoken exchange. Despite knowing no German, Blake guessed at a couple of Anglo-Saxon sounding words that his linguist wife probably didn't understand.

Do it somewhere else,
he begged.

His prayer was answered and two pairs of footsteps receded from the room. Half a minute passed as they looked at each other with widening smiles, then Minerva nodded.

He backed out, tapping her head to remind her to rescue her hat, rather the worse for wear for being trampled. Hand in hand they crept across the room, past the half-open door to the bedroom, whence came a new set of ecstatic noises, and into the passage. Once they made it round the corner to the long gallery, they stopped as one and succumbed to mirth.

“Oh my goodness, Blake.” Minerva shook as she put on her hat in front of one of the inevitable mirrors and tried to arrange the battered feathers. “I thought I'd die in there.”

Blake was almost doubled over, trying not to laugh out loud and attract the servants. “You're mad, Minnie. Quite mad. You need a keeper.”

“Nonsense. I had a very good plan. It would have worked too.”

“You mean if that pair were, in fact, discussing the restoration of the Empire.”

“Hush! They still may be.” He met her eyes in the mirror and raised his eyebrows. “Well, perhaps not. What a very strange couple. What they were doing can't be normal.”

“Not to my taste.”

She gave up on her bonnet and turned to face him in the flesh. “No?”

“The whole dog thing is ridiculous.”

She giggled. “I couldn't believe it.”

“But I can imagine being overcome by the desire to spank you.”

“Don't you dare!”

“I'd like to put you over my knee and smack you hard.”

She didn't know whether to believe him. Incredulity battled indignation in her features.

“But only to discourage you from foolish starts like this.”

A hand to her shoulder prevented her stalking off in a pet. “Let me remind you what's to my taste, Minnie,” he said softly and took her mouth in a light but lingering kiss. Their breath mingled through slightly parted lips. His desire, barely dampened by the business of escape, roared back. “Let's get out of here,” he whispered.

Ten minutes later he assessed the design of the French cabriolet. Exposed to public view in the two-seated open chaise, he was unable to kiss her all the way home. The carriage was not, however without its erotic possibilities. From the waist downward they were protected by the leather apron hood. He placed his hand on her knee, exploring the delicate rounded joint through the stiff silk of her gown.

“Why did you come to find me?” Obviously her mind was not in quite the same place as his.

His caress switched to her thigh. “You have to ask?”

“I left a note.”

“Yes you did.”

“So why?”

His palm pressed between the thighs, feeling her heat through all the layers of feminine garments. To his pleasure her legs parted and she issued a little gasp.

“I came to find you, Minnie,” he whispered, close to her ear, “because I couldn't wait for you any longer.”

Later, Minerva thought. She'd ask him later. For the moment she'd think about the delicious sensations created by his hot breath on her ear and his hand down below. Earlier, behind the screen, when he'd actually touched her under her clothing she'd almost cried out with shock and pleasure. It wasn't nearly as good with drawers and petticoats and skirts in the way. She reclined against the meager padding of the cabriolet's seat and thrust her groin forward into Blake's touch. And wanted still more. She grasped the back of his hand and pushed down hard.

“That's it, Minnie,” he said. Shivers traveled down her body and joined the even more powerful waves that built deep inside her. Staring ahead, she stared at the back of the driver and wondered fleetingly if he had any idea what was happening in his vehicle.