The Dukes' Christmas Abductions (4 page)

“I
see.” Clara frowned at him, as he dropped his voice on purpose to test her
reaction. “So that was your plan, was it? Sneak up and get yourself deflowered
by a duke, and then what… Cry rape? Get me to marry you, what? It won’t work,
you know.”

Daniel
knew he was being the biggest cad imaginable right now, but he had to be sure.

The
most un-lady like string of inventive swear words that came out Clara’s mouth
were as unexpected as they were delightful.

They
were followed by a barrage of cushions, one of which hit him straight in the
face, “Marry you? Who on earth do you think you are? This is the twenty first
century you bloody fool, not…”

Daniel
didn’t hear the rest of the shouted words, as the ground shook with another almighty
flash of thunder and lightning. The candles went out, and the room filled with
enough light to blind a man.

What
in deuce was going on?

Chapter Four

Faversham
House, December 1815

“Contrary
to what you assume, my dear, you do have a spouse. To wit, me.” That
hallucination of a drop dead gorgeous bloke folded his arms, to all intents and
purposes a man without a care in the world, except to hear what she had to say.
She’d tell him.

“Hold
on. Humor me please.” Vicky wriggled until she was almost flat on the bed with
only her head propped on the covers. He followed her actions with narrowed eyes
but didn’t speak. “Shut up and listen up.”

Vicky
gathered her thoughts as the feather mattress cocooned her. The sheer comfort
was enough to make her want to sigh in contentment. If she hadn’t been so
determined to get to the bottom of what was going on, she’d have said sod it
and enjoyed a nap. However.

“Right,
I might sound like a tape on loop, not that I’d even know how to do that let
alone get hold of one.”
 
Shut up Vic
you sound like a moron.

He
frowned.

“Yes
I’m babbling again, sorry. Right.” She forced her shoulders down and tried to
relax. It was hard when she was so churned up. “Please just tell me what
happened to get me tied down, naked, in your bed. Straightforward and with no
embellishments.”

He
did that one raised eyebrow thing that sent her pussy into spasms. Bloody hell,
at this rate the sheet would be two toned and she’d be damp and uncomfortable.

Damn
him.

“Our
bed, and sadly, not what would usually happens when you’re fastened, naked
there.”

That
sentence spoken in
that
voice was hard not to respond to by a fast move
from the bed, onto the floor and on her knees in front of him.

She
also could do the one eyebrow thing, sadly not with as much style and panache
as the man who now very slowly unwrapped his yard long cravat from his neck and
ran it through his fingers. Her gesture seemed lost on him as he held the
cravat in the air and chuckled. “This would usually be used somehow. When
allowed, you can be most inventive.”

 
Allowed?
Vicky decided that if she wanted
to ever find out what was going on she’d better let that outrageous comment
pass unremarked.

He
put the cravat onto the back of a chair and turned to the cuffs of his shirt.
It looked as if she might be about to see the guy in a much more natural light.
Would it be cool to punch the air and shout yee haa?

Maybe
not.

 
Instead she waited until he’d pulled the shirt
over his head and prompted him. “So?”

So.”
He wandered, bare-chested, over to one corner of the room and used a bootjack
to pull off his gleaming hessians. The firelight emphasized the play of his
muscles as he moved and the tight breeches showed his buttocks off to
perfection.

Vicky
watched him, dry mouthed as he bent over to stand his boots outside the door,
and turned back to look at her as he closed the door and locked it.

“We
don’t need servants interrupting us.”

Well,
no, but who on earth were the servants? As far as Vicky knew only Clara and the
caretaker husband and wife team were permanent staff and no way were they
classified as servants.

The
guy … her husband—allegedly—walked back to the bed and sat on the edge. She
looked pointedly at his groin where his cock was outlined long and hard under
the creamy-colored material that hid it from view. He followed her gaze and
smiled ruefully.

“A
permanent state of affairs around you, my heart.”

“Maybe
it needs air? You know instead of being confined under those.” She waved her
hand in the direction of his prick. “I don’t mind.”

He
laughed. “Nor would my pego.”

Pego?
I thought that was only used in books. I use it in mine, but by god he’s taking
this dress in Regency costumes a bit too far isn’t he? Talking in it as well.
Ah well as long as I find out what’s going on and where Clo… hell, I’d
forgotten Clara.

“Clara?”
she blurted out. “Is she okay?”

He
stayed his fingers as they opened the placket on his breeches and blinked.
“Who?”

“The
girl I was with and… oh look just tell me everything, then you can answer my
questions.”

“
Ma
petite.”

The
warning tone in his voice made her shiver with an
ohh what next
thought. However…

“Look,
sorry or whatever but I’m sort of worried here,” she said placatingly.
 
A thought struck her. “Do you know where my
ba…reticule is.” At least she could use the correct name for the pretty
drawstring bag that matched the dress she’d worn.

He
bent down to the base of the cabinet by the bed. The one she thought might
contain a commode. It didn’t, but that thought made her want to use one.

As
he straightened and handed her the reticule Vicky wondered just what was more
important. Finding out what was happening, going to the bathroom, or checking
the contents of her bag were still intact. Her bladder decided for her.

“Um
where’s the loo please?” At his blank look she mentally rolled her eyes.
Asshole
.

“Excuse
me, I need the…” The what? “The facilities,” she finished finally. “The
withdrawing room.” Her skin heated and she wanted to slide under the covers.
Why was it that to ask where the loo was didn’t faze her but asking in such an
antiquated manner made her blush?

He
pointed to one side of the room. Only the twinkle in his eyes showed how amused
he was by her reaction. “Through that door. Where there is also a bath, and a
ewer and warm water. I hesitate to say it’s hot as I brought it up earlier, but
at least it won’t be freezing.”

 
Vicky nodded. “Thank you.” Now if only she had
something to wrap herself in. His expression showed her he damn well knew what
was going through her mind and expected her to ask for a robe. Well, sod it,
she went naked at home, she could do it here. She’d just ignore him.

That
of course was easier said than done.

With
an insouciance she certainly didn’t feel, Vicky threw the cover back and stood
up. He, damn him, didn’t take his eyes off her. Now she knew how a bug pinned
out for inspection felt.

He
grinned and flicked his finger over her denuded pussy.

“Nice
to see your cunt without a covering of hair.”

“Too
personal, mate.” Vicky turned her back on him. “Watch it.”

The
swat to her ass was unexpected and stung. She swung round again. “What the fuck
was that for?”

“Brass
is not accepted.”

Vicky
thought fast. She thought he’d used brass to mean impudence not outrageous.

“You
mean I’m bratty? I know that. Sass is my middle name.”

“No,
your middle name is Sarah.”

****

Kit
watched as she wrinkled her nose. He had no idea what bratty or sass meant but
he’d guess she meant she answered a question with another and took nothing for
granted without querying it first. If that was, what did she say, sass, he
liked it.

“Sarah?”
she said finally. “How do you know that?”

“Wedding
vows. I, Victoria Sarah do marry, and so on.”

“Yeah,
well about that marriage malarkey … hold on, look I really do need to go.” She
turned on her heel and left the room at a run.

Kit
watched and knew he had a smile on his face. His Victoria might have woken up
with some strange ideas in her head but she still did everything at top speed.
He stripped his stockings and breeches down his legs and, as naked as she,
stretched out on the bed. Used to the temperature he didn’t bother going under
the covers. It might be only a little above the temperature needed to put ice
on his drinking water, but it didn’t bother him or his cock. He was pleasantly
warm and his cock, heated by their exchange, was as stiff as it ever became.

Kit
counted three minutes in his head before the door opened and his wife returned.
He looked her up and down, as ever admiring her racehorse sleek body. She
glowered.

“Stop
that. I know it’s all a sham. I’m not well endowed and I look like a boy.”

 
What?
“If you think that, you need to be
put over my knee. Does this,” he ran his hand over his cock from base to tip,
collected the juices that had already gathered and held it toward her, “give
you that impression? I’m not interested in boys. I never was, not even at Eton.
Taste,” he commanded. “Come here and taste what just looking at you does to
me.”

Would
she? Kit had no illusions that if she chose not to, he wouldn’t chastise her.
Any spanking or flogging was consensual and within the remit of their dynamique.
As young men, one stormy night, he and his cousin had emptied several bottles
of his Papa’s best—and smuggled—brandy, and swapped sexual encounters and
preferences. To both their pleasure and amazement, they’d discovered they each
had a penchant for things not usually discussed between the gentlemen of the
ton, and certainly not admitted to being part of a man’s usual proclivities.
Partly, he assumed because few women would let such things happen. To indulge
in bondage or flogging one had to employ the services of a courtesan or
demi-monde. To discover that when, by accident he flicked his riding crop over
his wife’s rear she’d moaned in ecstasy, had been an eye opener. To hear her
admission that she liked it, and was ready to try other things he enjoyed, had
set the seal on their successful marriage.

He
would do nothing to lose that rapport.

“
Ma
petite.”
His hope, that by using her name for their play, she’d obey, was
realized. Victoria swallowed deeply and walked toward him, dipped her head, and
sucked his finger deep into her mouth. She looked up at him from under lowered
lashes. “You taste magnificent, but…”

He
seized the advantage. “Oh your knees over me, and suck me until my juices fill
your mouth.”

 
She moved and climbed over him. Her pert
breasts were at eye level and he took hold of her nipples and squeezed. Her
hiss of indrawn breath was all he could ask for.

“Down
on me.” He understood how his terse uttered commands made her wet. With a bare
cunt he could see her skin glisten with her juices and watch as her nether lips
became red and engorged. Next he knew she’d try to rub herself over him, make
enticing little erotic mewls and do her best to gain her release. Not yet.

“Do
not touch yourself in any way. Make me spill, then we’ll see.” He tweaked her
nipples one last time and leaned back once more. “Eat me,
ma petite.”

She
stroked his cock from tip to base with her tongue and circled his girth, before
she tightened her mouth round him and began to suck and release. Up and down,
slowly and faster. Her fingers found his bollocks and fondled and squeezed
them, just as he liked.

 
Kit’s breath grew labored and harsh. “Hell,
yes, more faster, oh sweet lord. Yes…” He saw stars as she thrust the tip of
her tongue into the slit of his cock and nipped the sensitive head with her
teeth.

His
seed spurted out of him as she swallowed and sucked him ever faster. Kit shook,
gripped her head and surrendered to the sweetest sensation ever.

Several
minutes later, Kit stared at the woman, who stirred by his side, rolled onto
her front, knelt up, stretched her arms high in the air and smiled down at him.

“Mm…mmmm.”
She grinned. “Got to say I enjoyed that.”

My
wife, my love, my life.
Six words to fill him with satisfaction.

“Your
turn,
ma petite
. Now what first, I wonder? Do I tie you, flog you and
fuck your darkness? Or fill you with my seed and wonder if we create our first
child.”

“You
er ... what?” Her eyes widened, she blinked and gasped. “Oh shit what have I
done?”

Why
was she talking about bodily functions in such a manner? And she seemed
perturbed, not at all as she normally would when he made such suggestions.

Kit
opened his mouth to ask what she meant when she scrambled over him, nearly
de-balling him in her haste. His cock must have seen near disaster because it
deflated the fastest he had ever known. If it could, Kit would swear it
wouldn’t have stopped at slinking between his legs but snuck behind his ass
instead.

He
let his breath out in one long whoosh when she stood next to the bed and
frantically looked around.

“Definitely
both. On your knees, head on the pillow.”

“Yeah,
yeah, hold on a sec.” It was obvious she hadn’t listened to him. “Where’s that
sodding bag? Ha, thank the lord.” She ignored Kit as she lifted the reticule
she had grabbed and upended the contents on the covers next to him.

Kit
stared. What on earth had she got in there? Nothing was familiar to him. Except,
he saw with relief, a fan. He watched carefully as she scrabbled between
strange shapes and boxes and pulled out a package, and waved it high in
triumph.

“Yes!
I knew I’d got some with me. We do nothing unless you jacket up.” She paused
and looked at him closely. “Hey, just because I carry condoms doesn’t mean I’m
easy or a slut, okay? I’m open and honest and don’t agree to a double standard.
If a guy can say he wants to shag, why shouldn’t a woman? Likewise I carry
condoms, tampons—cos lord I’m about as regular as a London bus—along with a
spare pair of contacts, wet wipes, and make sure my safety buddy knows where I
am. Which reminds me, where am I exactly?” She picked up a small shiny oblong
box and looked at him expectantly. “Then, once I’ve let Clo know where you’ve
got me, we can…” She blushed. His confusion must have shown on his face. Lord,
his wife did talk in riddles some times. Had she always been as bad?