Forbidden Pleasures (13 page)

Emily got up and took the tray downstairs, rinsed the grab-it, and stuck it in the dishwasher. She dumped the evidence of her Mallomar consumption in the garbage, and recycled the two green bottles. Then, returning upstairs, she took a lavish bubble bath, pulled on a clean sleep shirt, and, grabbing the channel changer as the upstairs hall clock struck eight o’clock, she turned on the television. Almost at once she saw a gray stone country church. The scenery about the church proclaimed it full high autumn. The oak and the ash trees were gold and red. The ducal coach drew up before the church. A footman jumped from his perch and hurried to open the door on the right side of the vehicle and let down the steps. Then he handed out Caro Trahern.

She was dressed in a gown of pale blue watered silk. The full skirt had a pleated hemline that hung just off the ground. The fitted bodice and skirt formed a single garment. While the neckline was low, the bride wore a delicate lace fichu that was fastened in front with a beautiful brooch of pearls and gold. The sleeves of the dress were fitted to the elbow, and from them hung the same delicate lace as the fichu. Her shoes were flat-heeled and embroidered with rounded toes. On her head she wore a broad-brimmed hat trimmed in lace and ribbons. And in her hand she carried a posy of rosebuds and lavender tied with matching blue ribbons and lace.

Emily reached out and pressed the enter button on the channel changer as the duchess began to walk into the small church. Music swelled from the small organ that was being vigorously pumped by a rather beefy lad she recognized as the blacksmith’s son. Once again she had put herself into the skin of her heroine. The duke awaited her inside the church vestibule. Their eyes met. She took his arm, and together they traversed the center aisle of the little church to where the Reverend Mr. Playfair awaited them. The congregation, Emily noted, was made up of villagers and servants. Caro’s second marriage would not be a grand affair, given the fact that she had been widowed for only thirteen months. The ceremony was the simple Anglican one, and over quickly. The bridal couple traversed the aisle.

Outside the Duke and Duchess of Malincourt greeted their villagers, who cheered them off as the open coach awaiting them took them back to Malincourt Hall. The day was so beautiful that Emily felt her eyes fill with tears. Her new husband noticed, said nothing, but put his hand on hers. She looked at him and smiled a weak smile.

“What are you thinking?” he finally asked her.

“Of the day I wed your uncle at St. George’s in London,” the duchess answered him. “It was June, and the king and queen came. My father hadn’t even given me a season, but he and your uncle insisted upon a grand society wedding. They were making a very strong public statement so that my uncle Richard would have no basis for a claim on my inheritance. Of course, I didn’t know then that my father intended to kill himself. Your uncle Godric was very good to me, Trahern. But I think if I am to be honest with you, I must say I prefer this wedding day to the other. I am not a woman for show.”

“I hope you also prefer this groom to the other,” he replied. “And tonight you will have a true wedding night. Something you did not have with my uncle, I know.”

The duchess blushed prettily. “Sir, you are too bold,” she half whispered.

He leaned over and murmured in her ear, “Surely you know how much I want to make love to you, Caro, my darling. I know you are an innocent, and I shall be patient and gentle. But come tomorrow morning you will be a woman in every sense of the word. I am not my uncle Godric. I am a man in the full flush of his manhood. I desire you very much, Caro. I only hope you desire me too.” He kissed her ear softly.

Her cheeks felt very warm. “I have no knowledge of what you expect of me, sir. I would not have you disappointed, but in matters of the heart I am lacking in education.”

“And it will be my supreme pleasure to educate you, my darling,” he told her.

She could not stop blushing, and was quite relieved to reach the house. There a light repast had been set out for them in the magnificent dining room. They ate in silence, and when they had finished repaired to the family salon. It was late afternoon. The servants had seen to the fires, and the room was comfortable.

“Why do you not repair to your chamber and take a little nap?” the duke suggested. “I am going to read. I will join you later.”

She stood up quickly and curtsied, saying, “The day has been fatiguing, milord. I shall take your good advice.”

“It will probably be one of the few times you do, Caro,” he replied, a twinkle in his eye. Then he chuckled at her expression of surprise. “Run along, my dear.”

Well, Emily thought as the duchess hurried upstairs to her
bedchamber, you are turning out to be an interesting man. My duchess will have to be very clever to avoid her husband discovering what mischief she has been up to for almost three years.
Poor Godric had never known, but then he was old and sick, and only wanted his comforts. As long as he had them, and Caro visited him when home from London, which was where she always claimed she had been, Godric Trahern was contented. He had married her to protect her, and she certainly had never realized that he would see to her future when he was gone. But he had, arranging first with his nephew and heir, and then with her, that she would marry Justin Trahern after a single year of mourning.

“No longer, Caroline,” he had said. “You are a very wealthy woman in your own right, and your father did not want you taken advantage of; nor do I. You know little of the world, my dear. You must be protected.”

Yes, her first duke had been a good man.

Emily shifted her mind-set back to the duchess, who reaching her own chamber, had her maid, Nancy, help her to disrobe. Bathing in a basin of perfumed water, she let the young girl help her into a delicate pale peach silk negligee.

“I shall not need you again tonight, Nancy,” she said as she lay down to rest. When the duchess was once again aware of herself, the sky outside of her bedchamber window was dark. She heard the door connecting her room with the duke’s open, and she turned over to see him in the light from the fireplace.

“Do not get up,” he said quietly. “I have come to join you, Caro.”

The duchess swallowed hard. Of course, this husband would want to claim his connubial rights as soon as possible, and it was their wedding night. “You will have to lead me, sir. As I have previously told you, my experience is nil.” She saw in the firelight that he was wearing a red paisley silk robe, but she suspected that beneath was naught.

“Under the circumstances of your first marriage I would not expect you to have had any experience, my dear. I know you are a virgin. My uncle assured me of it before he died.” He slid beneath the coverlet next to her. “There are many men in my position who would take from you what they believed was their due without so much as a by-your-leave. But I have found a woman who enjoys the act of copulation is a far better partner in bed sport.” He pressed her gently back among the pillows and touched her lips with his. “Tonight I will make love to you slowly and with great care, Caro. And tomorrow night I will begin to teach you how to respond in kind.” He kissed her gently again, his tongue tracing the outline of her mouth.

“Oh!” the duchess murmured softly.

He raised himself up, balancing upon an elbow, and carefully undid the ribbons at the neckline of her negligee. The garments opened to reveal her snowy-white bosom. The duke’s dark head bent, and he began to kiss the flawless flesh. His free hand pushed the fabric aside further, his mouth closing over a perfect little pink nipple. His tongue licked. His teeth carefully worried the sensitive nipple.

She could sense it all, Emily realized, delighted. She felt everything her duchess was supposed to be feeling: a tiny, almost imperceptible tingle between her legs, a longing she had not understood before. Her arms wrapped about the duke. “Oh, Trahern,” she murmured in his ear. “What is this magic you are making with me?”

In answer he ripped the delicate silk of her negligee open so he might have total access to her lovely body. A hand cupped her breast. He nuzzled it, and kissed the sharply pointed nipple. “I adore you, Caro!” he murmured against her ear. “I only want to give you pleasure, and more pleasure.”

She found her hands fumbling with the tie about his robe. “Take it off, Trahern,” she begged him. “I find your kisses and caresses have made me curious for more. For everything! Hurry, milord!”

He untangled himself from her briefly in order to shrug the robe from his muscular body. And while he did Caro pulled the shreds of her negligee from her own body and threw them carelessly on the floor. Then, gathering her into his arms, he began to kiss her until her head was spinning. “Do you know what I am going to do to you, my adorable bride?” he asked her low.

“You are going to fuck me,” she whispered back. “And I want you to, Trahern! Oh, how very much I want you to fuck me!”

But he was true to his intent. He began to kiss every inch of her body available to him. He turned her this way and the next, his lips caressing, his tongue licking her flesh until she was afire. She gasped when his finger invaded her body, a tiny bit of fear touching her nerves, but he sensed her anxiety, and soothed her even as a second finger joined the first, and he began to move them back and forth.

She was burning with a desire she had never known existed. “Oh!” she cried. “Oh!” as the fingers slipped from her, and the tip of one of them touched the rosebud hidden between the folds of her nether lips. The fingertip worried the sensitive little nub until she was almost weeping with the burning hunger she felt.

He mounted her naked body, his big hands first pushing her milky thighs open, then guiding his lover’s lance into her body. Her virginity quickly gave way, and he rode her fiercely. His big cock flashed back and forth within her, and her low moans grew in intensity until she was almost screaming with the pleasure he was giving her. Then, just as the world exploded around her, the duke bent low and whispered in her ear, “I promised you, Emily, that we would begin a grand adventure, and we now assuredly have, my darling.”

Her orgasm came in hard, hot bursts even as her eyes flew open and widened at his words. “Trahern!” she cried, and then fell into unconsciousness as his own lust spurted forth in the great jets of his love juices. And when she opened her eyes again she was in her own bed. The dawn was beginning to break outside of her windows, and the screen of the television was blank with snow.

Emily Shanski lay quietly on her back. Her sleep shirt was up to her waist, and she was sticky and wet between her thighs.
My God!
What had happened to her? She had slipped into the duchess Caro’s skin, or so she thought. But the duke had known that she was there. And in that moment of perfect pleasure he had told her so by addressing her by name. Briefly she was frightened. Perhaps it was not such a good idea to interact with her characters. But she had to admit that she felt more relaxed now than she had when she had turned on the Channel eight hours previously. Her sexual tension had completely vanished.

Emily climbed out of her bed and, barefooted, hurried out into the hall and up the stairs into her office. She had to get the scene she had just played out with the duke down on paper before it faded. With luck she could have the story line right up to that scene before Devlin arrived Friday night. Would he be pleased with her? God, she hoped so! Her career was the one thing in the world now that meant everything to her. If she had to write explicitly sexy love scenes to save it, then she was going to learn how to do it. And now, Emily realized, she had two lovers to learn her craft from.

She turned on her PC, and sat down. Two lovers. Of course, Devlin was going to take full credit for her metamorphosis, she chuckled to herself. Well, let him. The Channel was something special that belonged only to women. Men didn’t have to know about it. At least, that was what Rina had told her when she had introduced Emily to it. It was a delicious and dirty little secret, and while Emily had enjoyed being an observer as she imagined her novels in order to make certain they were believable, she had to admit that being an active part of the fantasy was even more fun. And for the first time in her life Emily decided that she wanted to have fun. She began to write, and it wasn’t until four hours later that she came down from her aerie.

The day was as clear and warm as the previous had been rainy and chill. She was hungry, and decided to fix herself a Sunday style breakfast even if it was Monday. Rina and Sam were coming by to take her to the Memorial Day parade, and then they were all going out to the club for lunch. French toast! That was what she wanted. French toast with lots of butter and syrup and sausages. She had begun to pull the ingredients together when the phone rang. Answering it, Emily heard Devlin’s voice, and her heart beat just a little faster.

“I took the red-eye home. London was lonely. I think I needed you with me,” he told her. “How about if I take Friday off and come out Thursday night, angel face?”

“Only if you’ll eat lamb chops and asparagus in bed with me,” she said with a happy smile. “And local strawberries. I dip them in dark chocolate laced with Grand Marnier. And we’ll have a bowl of whipped cream.”

“I won’t promise to confine the whipped cream to the strawberries,” he told her.

“Where do you want to put it?” she asked. She could almost hear his grin.

“All over you, and then I’ll slowly lick it off,” he said.

“Come early,” she told him.

“I will.” He chuckled, and then he rang off.

Reality was better, Emily decided happily as she turned her sausages in the frying pan. He had missed her. Well, she had sure as hell missed him too.

T
he Tuesday-morning editorial meeting at Stratford Publishing was coming to a close. At one end of the conference table Martin Stratford sat considering, as he swirled the remaining coffee at the bottom of his cup, just how many of these meetings he had attended over the last forty years. He was anxious to get to his summer home on the North Fork of Eastern Long Island. It was mid-July, and the city was untenable. At the other end of the table his company’s president, J. P. Woods, sat looking as cool and unruffled as she always did. Martin considered for a moment whether J.P. ever broke a sweat. There was never a hair out of place on the damned woman, but she knew how to run a publishing house. He’d give her that. Still, she wasn’t the best-liked person in their industry, which was why he was considering someone else to sit in his chair next year.