Mistress of Pleasure Read online

  Maybelle popped up from her chair and waved her blue parasol at him. “I could damn well get a better offer from any one of your peers, Your Grace. Now despite what you and the rest of the ton may think, I am not interested in marriage. At all. So please. Whatever you do, do not call upon me again. For your sake. Good-bye.” Fighting the heat rising into her face, she hurried past him. Never in all her life—

  “You will not walk away from me or my offer,” he snapped after her.

  “Oh, but I will,” she flitted over her shoulder, marching her way toward the door. “Observe.”

  “Damn it all.” The duke swiftly came in from behind and grabbed her arm, forcing her to not only stop, but to also turn and face his dense, muscular body.

  Maybelle froze as the scent of sandalwood, one she remembered all too well, surrounded her. Every bit of her body blazed beneath his powerful stare and for one crazed moment, she actually wondered what it would be like to be at his command once again. With his hands on her body. His length deep within her, making her feel wanted, needed.

  He slowly released her but inched closer, bringing in more of that sandalwood, which was sensually tinted with the heat of his body. “Your grandmother’s school is going to complicate your life in a manner you aren’t even prepared for. Admit it. My offer is a good one.”

  Finally grabbing hold of her wits, Maybelle stepped back and crossed her arms, her parasol sticking out to the side. “Oh, is it?” She tilted her head slightly. “You might say I’m a bit concerned about being deprived. On every possible level.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, his dark eyes slowly turning into a smoldering invitation. “I would never deprive my wife of anything.”

  “Oh, really?” She quirked a brow. “I don’t know about you, Your Grace, but that one night in the garden left me completely deprived. Based off of that alone, I am somewhat concerned.”

  His mouth visibly twitched as he struggled to hold back his obvious amusement. “I assure you, there is no need for concern, though it pleases me to no end that you think about that night so often.”

  Her eyes widened. The arrogant puff! Yes, well, enough was well enough. “Good day and good-bye!” She spun on her heel.

  The double doors to the parlor banged wide open, startling Maybelle into a frozen stance.

  “I have had quite enough,” a woman drawled from the doorway. “Must the entire household listen to this?”

  An older woman clad in a bombazine gown breezed into the parlor. The woman quickly turned, closed the doors on Clive, who was peering in on the commotion, and turned back. Her overall posture was very stiff, yet very elegant, and her sharp dark features resembled those of the duke. There was no mistaking those eyes.

  “Might I introduce my mother,” the duke muttered, “the Duchess of Rutherford.”

  Maybelle felt the room shrinking. For the rules had officially changed. She was now in the presence of what society defined as a real lady. A lady of first quality, which Maybelle knew she’d never be, even if she accepted the duke’s offer.

  Maybelle curtsied humbly. “How do you do, Your Grace?”

  The duchess nodded in turn, and slowly approached Maybelle, a questioning look on her face. She paused an arm’s length away. “Why did your grandmother not come, child? The letter was intended for her.”

  For all the gossip that went around, not enough of the proper sort seemed to reach ears. “She is still recovering from a stroke, Your Grace.”

  “Ah, yes. Yes. I apologize. I trust she is better?”

  “Yes. She is. Thank you.”

  The duchess paused and tilted her dark and silver streaked head, as if taking in her features. “You are certainly prettier than my son had described. Far prettier.”

  “Why are you here, Mother?” the duke interjected, sounding unusually exhausted. “I am more than capable of negotiating my own marriage.”

  “Is that so?” the duchess snapped. “By offering the poor girl a separate townhouse? How do you expect that to result in children?”

  Maybelle bit back a smile as the duke sank into the chair, grumbling. Why is it the man was so rebellious and unyielding to the world, yet one word from his mother and he became the saint she wanted him to be? It reminded her a tad too much of her relationship with her grandmother. Which couldn’t be all that bad. It meant the man had a heart somewhere in that broad chest of his.

  The duchess brought her dark eyes back to Maybelle. “I know full well who you are. I also know who your grandmother is and how she, like so many other women, steals our sons and husbands from beneath our respectable noses. But considering your age, I was utterly surprised to learn of your innocence. It means that despite your upbringing, you have a sense of morals. I pity you. Greatly. After all, you were born unto terrible circumstance that is by no means your fault.”

  Maybelle felt her cheeks flushing. This woman pitied her. Pitied her.

  The duchess turned slightly and looked at Edmund with what appeared to be admiration, despite her earlier treatment of him. “Setting aside some of his shortcomings, Miss Maitenon, my son is a good man and would make for an excellent husband. Please. Reconsider his offer. I promise you will not be ill treated. You will be family. Something Edmund and I have little of.”

  Maybelle’s brows rose. After the way this woman’s husband died, one would think she’d be set against having a courtesan in the family.

  The corner chair creaked in protest as Edmund finally rose from his post. He strode toward them, paused beside his mother, and leaned toward her. “I will see to this. Go.”

  The duchess sighed and eyed Maybelle. “I assure you that he will make a better offer.” With that, the woman turned and swept out of the room, shutting the parlor doors on herself and Clive, who still lingered just outside.

  In that moment, Maybelle didn’t know what to think anymore. She sensed desperation. As if the granddaughter of a courtesan was their last resort.

  Oh, this was not good.

  Edmund stepped toward her and said in a low, smooth voice, “My mother refuses to let this matter go for reasons that go beyond the humanity of anything I will ever know.”

  The duke stepped closer, his broad chest now blocking her view of the room. Maybelle swallowed and wanted to step away, but knew her knees would buckle from beneath her if she dared to even move.

  “Now as for me,” he murmured, tilting his dark head and openly admiring her lips, “I admit to being rather curious as to what more I can expect from you. Oddly, you fascinate me. In so many ways.”

  Maybelle felt as if the floor were now swaying beneath her. “Kindly step away.” She would have moved away herself, but didn’t trust her legs to step in the proper direction.

  He didn’t move and his gaze remained steady. “I am certain we can come to a mutual understanding that would ultimately benefit us both.” With that, he reached out, took hold of her shoulders, and dragged her toward him.

  Shocked by his forced closeness, her body went numb and the parasol she’d been clutching slipped from her gloved fingers, clattering to the floor. She could now feel the heat of his hands sinking through the shoulders of her gown as he stared down at her and rubbed his thumbs in small, seductive circles.

  “Clive is waiting right outside those doors,” she warned, trying desperately not to think about how amazing his large hands felt.

  “Inform me when I have overstepped my bounds, Madam.” He paused, his eyes searching her face as he lowered his face to hers. His hot breath grazed her forehead. Goosebumps feathered her body and she felt herself melting.

  He lowered his head farther, his parted lips now hovering over the bridge of her nose. Her pulse leaped when his lips paused just over hers. A mere breath away.

  Yet…he did not kiss her. Instead, his hand trailed up the side of her corseted waist and possessively found her breast.

  He cupped it. Hard.

  Maybelle sucked in a sharp breath and
stilled against his aggressive touch. A part of her desperately wanted it, while another part of her fought not to give in. And she couldn’t decide which part she should listen to.

  The duke continued to watch her face as his fingers slowly circled the lace of her bodice and the breast beneath it. Her nipple hardened beneath his playful and delicate touch as wonderful sensations fluttered across her chest and tingled the pit of her stomach.

  “Are you enjoying this as much as I am?” he murmured, his lips still lingering a mere breath from hers.

  Oh, yes. Very much so.

  Not breaking her gaze, he grabbed her gloved hand and pressed it down against the front of his trousers. Firmly.

  Her eyes widened and her breath caught as her palm met the length of his large erection. It was the first time she’d ever touched a man down there with her hand. Even if it was only through trousers.

  The intensity of his dark gaze along with her own curiosity made her curl her fingers around the pulsing heat of his hard length. She held it tightly through the wool.

  A muscle flicked in his jaw as his nostrils flared. “Now.” His voice was low, his gaze steady. “Allow me to see to your needs. Whatever they may be.”

  She swallowed, still holding onto his erection, and for one crazed moment, she actually contemplated flipping her skirts up for the bastard. But if she gave in to this man every time he had a fancy, she knew he’d come back to haunt her and claim her again and again and again. Without any offers.

  Maybelle moved her hand and shoved at him, scrambling outside the circle of his embrace.

  There was only one way to end this. “Cliiive!” she belted out.

  The doors to the parlor immediately swung open. Clive jumped back as though he’d had his ear pressed to the doors. He scrambled in, his chest heaving and his face a bright, crisp red.

  Perverts. The world was infested with perverts.

  “I wish to leave, Clive,” she announced. “My business here is done.” She cheered inwardly at her strength and smiled tightly at the duke, who stood quite stunned.

  At last, she was in control. And that is exactly how she wanted it to be.

  Lesson Seven

  When all else fails in your efforts to seduce, simply make use of all your resources and try, try again.—The School of Gallantry

  When the granddaughter of a courtesan refused a Rutherford, his days were numbered. Considerably.

  Disoriented, Edmund grabbed for a chair and sat. He was still trying to understand what had actually occurred. In mere moments he’d undertaken everything from proposing to outright trying to seduce the woman in his own parlor. Although his erection had subsided, it still ached like the devil. Ached to finish what always seemed to commence but could never quite end.

  Edmund leaned far forward, blew out a harsh breath, and rubbed at his temples, trying to relax. He was coming to the realization that he had a serious problem. He bloody wanted to bed Maybelle de Maitenon. Again. Although that first time didn’t truly count, did it?

  “She departed rather quickly,” his mother commented from the doorway.

  Edmund looked up and lowered his hands, placing them heavily onto his knees. “I take it you listened to the rest of the conversation.”

  “What sort of woman do you take me for? I was merely glancing through all of your correspondences.”

  He wasn’t even going to dignify that with an answer.

  She sighed. “You could have at least tried romancing the girl. She might have been more willing.”

  “I’ve never engaged in the notion of romantics and I am not about to begin.” He stood and slowly shook his head. “I offered to the best of my abilities and have absolutely no intention of dealing with that woman ever again. It is best we move on.”

  “Edmund, please.” His mother brought a hand to her throat. “Can we not make a better offer? Can we not—”

  “Not we. Me.” Edmund pointed to himself, making sure she understood what it was he was saying. “Whatever takes place from here on will take place because I say so. I do not want any more of your ridiculous notions about what I should or should not do.”

  She lowered her hand from her throat and moved toward him, a questioning look coming over her face. “So what will you do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” she demanded.

  “Yes, nothing. Believe me. She would make for the worst duchess and I for one have enough responsibilities without taking on one more.”

  “Come now. All she needs is polish. I can assist her with that.”

  He snorted. “The trouble with that logic, Mother, is there is no silver left in her drawers to polish. Quite literally.”

  His mother reddened and huffed out, “Well, I liked her. She was quite pleasant.”

  “Tart best describes her.”

  “She was also exceptionally beautiful for a common girl.”

  “Yes, I will grant you that.”

  “And clearly, has no hidden motives.”

  “All women have motives. Yourself included.”

  She placed her hands on her hips and stared him down. “Edmund. Admit it. You and she are one of the same when it comes to reputation. Yet she wants absolutely nothing from you. Despite the fact that you have robbed her of her innocence. Does that not move you to at least try and understand her? Obviously, she is not a fortune hunter.”

  Yes, but if Maybelle de Maitenon wasn’t a fortune hunter, what the hell was she then?

  “Find a way to win her heart,” she softly pleaded, stepping closer. “Before I pass from this life without ever looking upon the angelic faces of my grandchildren. Edmund, please. It is all I will ever ask of you. Do not rip away my last hope of ever finding joy. I deserve to be happy after all that has come to pass. I deserve a family. Do I not?”

  Why, oh why, did he have to care? Edmund sighed heavily and glanced around the parlor. Yes. If there was one thing his mother deserved it was happiness. Especially after their very name had been completely destroyed by his father. Clearly, his mother refused to let this matter go and it was up to him to create a new family for her. Even if it wasn’t going to be a proper one.

  In the end, he supposed he could scrounge up a better offer for Miss Maitenon. Although he doubted the woman would ever see him again.

  His mother gently grabbed hold of his arm. “You can be quite charming when you apply yourself appropriately.”

  “Thank you. Really.”

  “Please, dear. Help her. Help her before her only option is to become a courtesan. Or worse yet, a teacher for her grandmother’s school. Could you imagine?”

  Edmund paused. The school. Of course. The school. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Maybelle had been rather quick to defend the School of Gallantry. So quick, in fact, he had no doubt he could use that to his advantage.

  He eyed his mother and patted her hand, which continued to cling to his arm. “I think you’ve given me an idea.”

  The duchess paused and took back her hand, looking quite pleased with herself. “I am so happy I inspire you from time to time. So tell me. What exactly did I inspire you to do?”

  “Enroll.”

  Her dark brows popped up. “Enroll?”

  He slowly started walking backwards, toward his desk. “Yes. In the School of Gallantry. I cannot coerce the woman into marrying me. But I can coerce her into seeing me in class.” He grinned. “With time, I have no doubt I can make a respectable duchess out of her. And I promise to do all of this for you. Remember that.”

  His mother gasped and smacked a hand over her mouth. “By becoming a rake?” she cried through her clamped hand.

  “Oh, come. It isn’t the worst thing a Rutherford has ever done.” And as a student, he’d be able to better exploit the school and shut it down before it further interfered with Maybelle’s reputation. Or his own. He’d also get a chance to make the woman writhe. Writhe in a way she’d made him writhe today. And that night
. Oh, yes. By the time he was done with the woman, any offer would do.

  Edmund turned and strode over toward the gilded secretary. He snatched up a piece of embossed stationery and the quill set next to the inkwell. “I think it’s damn well time I put my title to use. People seem to think it doesn’t mean anything anymore. Oh. And another thing.” He pointed the quill in his mother’s direction. “Invite her to that upcoming ball of yours. I need to know how capable she is of handling the pressure of the ton.”

  “Heavens above! Edmund, no!” His mother rushed toward him, her black skirts bustling all around her. “This is not the way I envisioned your courtship to proceed. Surely there are other ways to—”