The Theft of a Dukedom (3 page)

‘Are you worried?’ he asked softly. She shook
her head and smiled at him. He kissed her softly. ‘Good.
Because there is nothing I would like more than to see
you nurse our child in your arms.’

She murmured.
‘I think I’m more aware of that than you are.’ He
said gruffly and slowly disengaged from her body. He
rolled on his back and relaxed.
They were quiet, each alone with their thoughts.
‘Would you like me to remove your boots?’ she asked
provocatively and got on her knees, straddled his legs
and lifted his left foot. As she bent over to pull the boot,
he could see the cleft in her bottom as a dark shadow
through the veil of her chemise and he felt the first
throb of his penis.
She is so damnably sexy!
He thought
as the boot came loose and she tossed it onto the floor.
He watched her cheeks wiggle as she endeavoured to
get the second boot off. As it came free, she fell
forwards, so that she was on her hands and knees.
‘Now that is a position I would love to make love
to you in.’ He murmured as her chemise rode up to
revealed her lower body and his penis throbbed as it
engorged again.
She looked over her shoulder at him. ‘Really?’
she asked in surprise. He didn’t waste any time
scrambling down the bed and smoothing his palms over
her buttocks, pushing the chemise up, his palms
continuing down as he prepared to push her thighs
further apart. ‘Isn’t this scandalous?’
‘Nothing is scandalous if both parties enjoy it.’
He murmured as he slid the head of his penis up her
slick cleft to her vaginal opening. He pushed inside, her
passage velvet lined with his semen, slowly so as not to
startle her and just held it in place. ‘How does that
feel?’ he asked softly as he stroked his hands over her
hips and down the front of her thighs, easing his fingers
under her garters.
‘Strange, but nice. If you see what I mean.’ She
muttered.
‘You just stay like that and leave this to me.’ He
mumbled as he slowly withdrew and eased back into
heaven in an erotic rhythm. As he elicited the first moan
from her he pushed her chemise up and over her head,
stroked his hands over her back and around onto her
breasts. He kept the pace slow and erotic; he didn’t
want to frighten her and slowly he let his right hand
drift down from her breast to her cleft and he gently
teased and tormented her clitoris. He could barely
contain himself as he felt the tiny muscles in her vagina
ripple with the first pulse of her orgasm. ‘You’re
coming.’ He gasped in ecstasy as he thrust his full length
into her and clasped her stomach to hold her still. She
cried out with every spasm as they orgasmed again and
he buried his face in her hair as his sperm cascaded into
her. He held her trembling body in his hands, to stop
her from collapsing on the bed. ‘Thank you.’ he
murmured as he slowly slid his softening manhood from
her slick body. ‘That was beautiful.’ He sighed as he
collapsed sideways and took her with him, clutching her
frail body to his chest, his face buried in her hair.
‘Well, it was different, I’ll give you that, but I’m
not sure I liked it.’ She said softly.
‘Why?’ he asked concerned and propped himself
up on his elbow and traced his lips over her upper arm.
‘I felt very exposed.’ She whispered and turned
her face away from him. ‘Very vulnerable.’ She
mumbled into the coverlet.
‘I’m sorry.’ He whispered. ‘I won’t do it again. I
didn’t realize it would make you feel uncomfortable.’
‘I’m not as experienced as you think, you know.’
She said embarrassed.
‘I wouldn’t expect you to be a courtesan.’ He
said calmly and stroked his hand down her arm.
‘Anyway, I love you just the way you are.’ He kissed her
cheek gently. ‘I should take my britches off now.’ And
he scrambled off the bed to remove his final pieces of
clothing. Unlike a lot of men, Thomas always wore
stockings on his feet. At first Victoria had sniggered
when she saw them, but at least he didn’t have smelly
feet. As he stood at the side of the huge bed removing
his clothes she looked at his fine body. It was hard to
believe he was nearly fifty, his shoulders were muscular
and his chest broad, with a fine mat of dark hair. His
abdomen was like a greyhound, concave stomach and
flat belly with a line of hair down to the bush in his
groin. His hips were lean and his thighs well muscled
from years of riding. His buttocks were just as firm and
his manhood impressive, even when it was flaccid. He
turned away to throw his britches onto a chair and she
marvelled again at his back and the huge trapezius
muscles that rippled with his movements.
She climbed on her knees and shuffled to the
edge of the bed and as Thomas turned back she
murmured. ‘You are such a sexy man.’ And kissed his
chest as her fingers stroked down his body to his flaccid
manhood. Taking it gently in her hand, she stroked it
from tip to base and gasped as it seemed to expand to
twice the size.
‘If you play with that, my love,’ he said hoarsely,
‘you should expect it to spit in your eye.’
She looked up at him and smiled. ‘I would have
to have my face close to it for that.’ She said innocently,
making him groan.
‘Don’t tempt me, Madam!’ he said smiling and
pushed her back onto the bed, so that he could remove
her stockings and garters. He delicately pulled the
ribbon holding her stocking up as he stroked his lips
over her bared thigh and followed the stocking to her
foot with his lips.
I wonder if he’d like me to lick his cock.
She wondered as she watched his manhood swell while
he was removing her stockings.
I wonder what it would
taste like. That’s just too sinful for words, Victoria!
She
scolded herself. By the time she was completely nude,
they were ready again and he made love to her until she
fell into an exhausted sleep.
He could see the first flicker of dawn in the sky
and knew he should go. She was lying on her side, like a
child and he was snuggled up behind her, with her
golden hair spilled across his body. He carefully rolled
on his back and lifted a handful of her hair to his face,
sniffing the smell of her.
Carefully he climbed out of bed and dressed
slowly, admiring her body in the increased light. He
knew she was nearly thirty eight, but looking like that
she didn’t look a day over twenty eight. Her alabaster
skin was flawless still and there wasn’t a line on her
face. Her breasts weren’t quite as pert as a twenty year
olds, but they were supple and fitted perfectly into his
hands. There was none of the flab around her middle
that Christina had developed after childbirth, but
Victoria had only had one. Christina had endured five
pregnancies, the last so exhausting that it took her life.
When he was dressed he stood and looked down at her.
He gently stroked her hair and she moaned and rolled
on her back, spreading her legs, as if he’d stroked her
pubic hair. He stared at that small triangle of golden hair
and the rivulets of his sperm on her inner thighs. Taking
a deep breath, because he would like nothing better
than to get back into bed and make love to her again, he
gently flicked the covers over her body and quietly left.
Charles had taken his carriage home, but Berkley
Square wasn’t that far from Grosvenor Square so he
decided to walk. He didn’t see another living soul, which
was strange for London, because there was usually
somebody about. As he opened the door of his mansion
Havers was waiting to greet him.
‘Don’t you ever sleep?’ he asked with a quirk of
a fine dark eyebrow.
‘Not when you’re abroad, Your Grace.’ Havers
said. ‘Lord Charles..’ he stopped and cleared his throat.
‘..forgive me, The Marquis is in the formal drawing room
and Lady Amelia is in bed, Your Grace.’
‘Very well. Have Chivers draw a bath for me.’
Havers nodded and turned away as Thomas opened the
door of the formal drawing room quietly. He poked his
head around the door and just looked at his son. Charles
was flat on his back, in front of the fire, with both the
brandy decanter and claret jug standing empty on the
hearth.
‘Havers?’ he called softly and the butler arrived.
‘How long has he been there?’
‘Since Lady Amelia went up to her room, Your
Grace.’ He said softly. ‘I didn’t know whether to fetch a
blanket for him.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind, Havers. I think it’s safer to
leave him there.’
‘Very good, Your Grace.’ And the butler sent a
footman off for a blanket.
Thomas took the thick blanket and carefully laid
it over his son. The urge to stroke his head was
overwhelming, but he hadn’t done that since the first
night he found him on the floor, when he’d touched
him, Charles had almost killed him before he was awake
properly. He’d already warned Amelia about startling
him when he was sleeping and so far she had stayed out
of his room at night. Charles groaned, turned on his side
and pulled the blanket up around his ears, as if he was
freezing. Thomas looked down on his son and wondered
how many nights he’d laid out in the open air and just
what horrors he’d seen, to make him sleep in front of
the fire on the floor instead of in a perfectly good bed.

Richard Dunsmore climbed out of the coach and
looked at the facade of the ducal residence. He stepped
out smartly, as he was eager to see Charles again. He
almost ran up the steps and a footman had the door
open before he got there. Havers looked at Richard
enquiringly.

‘Lord Richard Dunsmore.’ He announced himself
properly for a change. ‘I was invited by Charles
Stafford.’

‘Of course, My Lord. The Marquis is in the
garden with Lady Amelia. If you’ll follow me, Sir.’
Richard was surprised.
Who is Lady Amelia?
He
thought.
Pound to a penny it’s a future wife!
He
followed the butler, curbing his impatience. Eventually
they reached a wide flagged terrace and there in the
centre of the lawn was Charles in sword play with the
most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
The lucky bastard!
He
thought profoundly as the butler showed him to a seat
at the table.
He watched the girl, more than Charles. She was
wearing a pale yellow gown with lime green ribbons.
Her hair had been severely braided to her scalp and was
a sort of mousy brown. Her skin was like alabaster and
her face was alive with mirth, green eyes glinting and a
smile curved her lips. She handled the wooden sword
like an expert. He admired the strength of her wrist as
she lunged at her opponent’s torso. Charles barely
managed to parry the thrust.
‘You see, I was right!’ Lady Amelia shouted in
glee. ‘You would never be able to make Swiss cheese of
Ponsonby at the moment!’ and she lunged again,
forcing Charles onto his back foot. It was a thrust
designed to make him shuffle backwards and if she’d
followed it to a successful conclusion, her wooden
sword would have hit him squarely in the solar plexus.
‘For heaven’s sake! I can’t run around yet!’
Charles replied, as he parried again. ‘I can barely make a
riposte!’ and there was a sudden clash of wood and
Charles’s sword went flying across the exquisitely
tailored lawn. Lady Amelia let out a triumphant yelp as
the point of her wooden sword pricked Charles’s shirt
over his heart. ‘Very nice!’ Charles said as he looked
down at the offending timber. ‘It’s a good job these are
made of wood!’ and Lady Amelia laughed gaily as he
turned to retrieve his sword and saw Richard sat at the
table. ‘Richard! You’re early!’ Charles carefully retrieved
his walking stick from the grass and limped towards the
terrace. ‘When did you get here?’
‘About five minutes ago. Are you going to
introduce me?’ he asked impertinently, getting to his
feet as Kitty arrived at the table with the swords.
‘Of course, Lady Amelia, this is my friend Lord
Richard Dunsmore.’ Charles smiled as Richard bowed.
‘Richard, this is my sister Kitty!’
Kitty did a perfect bob curtsy and said hello
demurely. ‘I must go in now. Aunt Agatha is taking me
to the dressmakers this morning. So, I shall see you at
lunch?’
‘I would think so, Kitty. Have fun and don’t skimp
on the lace. Make it expensive for the clumsy oaf!’
‘I will!’ she called as she ran into the house.
‘I thought you told me you had a little sister.’
Richard said thoughtfully as he watched her vanish
through the french windows.
‘She is my little sister.’ Charles said and laughed
coarsely. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you she’s only four years
younger than me!’
Kitty flew up the stairs into her bedroom. She
carefully donned a bonnet, to match the green ribbons
adorning her lemon muslin morning dress and a Spencer
in dark brown velvet. She looked critically at her
reflection in the mirror as she carefully buttoned up the
short jacket hugging her bosom, making sure the
upright collar wasn’t flopping down as she did up the
last button against the hollow of her throat. As she
carefully pulled on some kid gloves, she looked out of
the window at her brother and his friend on the terrace.
He looked handsome.
She thought as she picked up the
brown velvet reticule, the damaged gown and dashed
out of the door again, running right through the family
suites to her Aunt Agatha’s suite.

Both men were relaxing in the bright English sun.
Havers had arrived with the obligatory brandy and they
sat in companionable silence.

‘How’s your leg?’ Richard asked softly as a bee
buzzed around the decanter on the table.
‘Getting better.’ Charles replied in the same lazy
way. ‘It doesn’t hurt all the time any more. How’s your
back?’ Richard shrugged and it was quiet again. Both
men were oblivious to the drone of London, having lived
with an army of thousands they were used to the noise
of population.
‘How many times have you woken up in the
garden in the morning?’ Richard asked suddenly and
shivered.
‘I haven’t yet. But then I tend to fall asleep in
front of the fire in the drawing room.’ He looked at
Richard. ‘Have you?’
Richard nodded. ‘I damn nearly killed my valet
the first morning back.' He whispered. ‘The stupid
bastard shook my shoulder when I told him not to, even
if I was screaming.’
‘What happened?’ Charles asked just as softly.
‘By the time I was awake enough to realize
where I was, the poor sod was almost blue in the face
from my hand around his throat!’
‘I did the same thing to my father.’ Charles
admitted softly. ‘I think he stroked my head, but all I
saw was a french soldier until he collapsed onto the
settee and I realized I was in the drawing room.’ He
shook his head. ‘Who would have thought that going to
war would have such a detrimental effect on our lives? I
assumed it would be glorious, did you?’
‘I’m afraid I did. My brother tried to warn me
about it, but I wouldn’t listen.’
‘Wasn’t he in the navy?’
‘Yes. He sold his commission after Trafalgar. He
sat one night and tried to describe the bloodshed, but I
wasn’t really listening.’
At that moment the Duke sauntered out onto
the terrace. Charles struggled to get to his feet and
Thomas shook his head. ‘Stay seated, son. You know I
don’t stand on ceremony.’ He turned to Richard and
extended his hand. ‘You must be Richard Dunsmore.’
‘I am, Your Grace.’ Richard responded, jumping
to his feet. He shook the proffered hand firmly.
‘How is Rutland? I haven’t seen him in London
for a few years?’
‘My father is not well, Your Grace. Much of the
official business has already landed on my eldest
brother’s shoulders, so the transition will be swift when
my father dies.’ He tried to sound cold and heartless,
but he couldn’t hide the sorrow in his eyes.
‘Yes, the transition of power is swift, but warn
your brother it isn’t painless. You not only have to
grieve for the lost parent, but also have to pick up the
pieces of your life and adjust to the responsibilities of
the Earldom.’ Charles had looked up at his father in
surprise, as they resumed their seats. ‘Just taking your
seat in the House can be traumatic.’
‘Is that what happened to you?’ Charles asked
with sudden compassion for his rich and powerful
father.
‘Yes. My father died when I was twenty four.
Just your age, Charles. My mother stood beside me at
the graveside and asked me what was going to happen
and I felt the weight of a Dukedom land on my very
young and inexperienced shoulders.’ He sighed deeply.
‘I’d like to believe that I’ve managed it all quite well
since that cold morning, but everyone makes mistakes.’
‘What mistake was that, father?’ Charles asked
softly.
‘Robin.’ The Duke answered. ‘Indulging Robin
was my greatest mistake.’
Charles couldn’t believe that his father had
chosen this moment to talk about his wayward brother.
‘He was always a little wild.’ He tried to excuse.
‘When he was a small boy his wildness was
treated as precociousness and excused by his mother,
who spoiled him terribly. She was so glad that he
survived childbirth that she foisted too much love on
him.’ He said distantly. ‘When he was a teenager, I
excused his behaviour as normal for a ducal heir
exploring his world. After all I’ve been in his position,
having been pursued by women relentlessly for my
fortune and title, played cards and drank to excess, just
so that I could find my way in a confusing world.’ He
looked at Charles. ‘The hardest thing in the world to do
is say no. No to the most beautiful woman, no to the
temptation of a high wager and no to another bottle of
claret. Wisdom or caution was something that Robin
never learned. Too many times I rescued him from
disaster. This last escapade nearly cost him his life,’ he
shook his head. ‘He had been tupping the Duchess of
Albany and the Duke found out about it and challenged
him. Like an idiot he accepted the challenge and
dutifully turned up in Hyde Park. He shot the Duke
between the eyes, before Albany even had time to lift
his pistol!’ Both Charles and Richard gasped at the
blatant disregard to the rules of duelling. ‘Of course, he
didn’t know I was watching from the trees and I saw
him stand over the body and laugh like a hyena.’ He
looked up at Charles. ‘I actually wondered if he was
mad.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I had never
considered insanity as a reason for his wildness, not
until that morning. Anyway, he was seen leaving the
park by a Runner. Being Robin, of course, he came
straight to me for assistance, but what assistance could I
give him? He had killed a Duke in an illegal duel, not
even I could save him from the gallows! I told him to
leave the country and not return.’
Charles looked at the horror in his father’s eyes
and wondered exactly what that discussion had been
like. He knew what his brother was like if he was
refused anything and on more than one occasion had to
intervene before he beat somebody to death at Eton. ‘It
must have been a difficult decision.’ Charles muttered
helplessly.
‘Not the decision. That wasn’t hard. It was the
execution that took courage. There is nothing more
devastating than looking your first born son in the eye
and telling him never to come to your house again.
Never to use the title Marquis again and tell him there
would not be any more money and he had to make his
own way in the world.’ Thomas sobbed suddenly and
Charles was astounded to see tears fall from his father’s
eyes. ‘He raged and threatened so much that Kitty came
to see what the shouting was about. He turned on her
with such vitriol that she ran from the room crying and
that was when I hit him.’ Thomas admitted softly. ‘I
could put up with many things, but not how he spoke to
Kitty, sweet gentle Kitty who had always been there for
him, to excuse him and forgive him.’ He took a deep
breath. ‘I punched him in the face so hard, that I broke
his nose. I genuinely thought he would kill me after that,
he was so enraged, but he turned on his heel and
stormed from the house.’ Thomas slipped a piece of
vellum from his waistcoat pocket and handed it over to
Charles.
Charles accepted it and looked evenly at his
father before he opened the note. It had the Royal Coat
of Arms on the top and he started to read in dread.