The Devilish Duke

“I don’t drink.”

“Try it,” he ordered. “It’s excellent.”

When the footman filled her glass, she took a sip. It tasted dark and floral all at once. With nothing to judge it against, she couldn’t have spoken to its quality.

“Now then, negotiations.” He leaned back in his chair and studied her. “You become a duchess. I give your father a large sum of money. What do I get?”

“What you must have been looking for all along,” she answered. “It’s common knowledge you don’t have an heir.”

“And, why you, Miss Weaver?”

“Not all families will give their daughters to the devil duke.” There, she’d said what everyone called him behind his back. He had to know of it, even if it was never said to his face.

“Repeat that,” he said.

“They call you the devil duke.”

The candle caught a light of something in his eyes. Anger? “Do you know why they call me that?”

“Because both of your wives died.”

“And the fools think I had something to do with it.” He sighed. “In truth, I did.”

She set her wineglass down with a clatter.

“Don’t look shocked,” he said. “I didn’t murder them, but I had a hand in their deaths, nevertheless.”

If what she’d heard was true, the first wife had died in childbirth and the second had committed suicide. No sign of foul play, and yet, enough to rouse suspicions.

“Are you still willing to give me an heir?” he asked.

“I am.”

He brought his glass to his lips and stared at her over the rim. “You know what that involves, do you?”

“Of course, I do.”

“All right. I have a test. If you pass it, you’ll become the Duchess of Fallon.”

She lifted her chin. “I can pass any test.”

He chuckled but without mirth. “You’re sure of that?”

“Try me.”

“All right.” He gestured to his footman. “Tom, have a bedroom made up. The way we discussed. And then, bring us our dessert.”

When the man bowed and left the room, the duke turned his attention back on her. “When you leave this table, Tom will lead you to your room. Take off every stitch of your clothing. Put on the night rail laid out there—nothing underneath—and lie on the bed.”

“And then?”

“I’ll visit you.”

“But you can’t,” she said. “We’re not married yet.”

“I won’t ruin you. You’ll have your virginity when I’ve done.” He set down his glass. “But I will touch you.”

“That’s a test?”

“I want to watch you spend,” he said.

“Spend?” she repeated.

“Spend, climax. I want to witness your orgasm. Will you let me do that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You can go home to your father,” he said. “I’ll send you in my carriage.”

Back to her father and to a different choice—either the man who’d offered more for her than the duke or to be put out into the street.

“I’ll take your test, Your Grace.”

“Good.” He leaned back against his chair. His expression might have been carved of stone.

The footman reappeared carrying a tray.

“Enjoy your dessert,” the duke said.

* * *

A queen might have occupied the bedroom Fallon had ordered for her. The huge four-poster could have slept three, and it stood so high she’d have to use the stool by its side to climb onto it. The canopy disappeared into the shadows. She wouldn’t even know the fabric until the morning.

After removing her shoes and stockings, she took off her dress and hung it on a hook in the wardrobe. A ghostlike reflection of herself in the oval mirror nearby looked on as she got out of her other clothing. She had to struggle to unlace her stays without help, and she likely wouldn’t be able to get the corset back on at all without help. Finally, she stood nude and couldn’t help but stare at her image in the glass.

A very unremarkable woman looked back. No great beauty and with the yoke of a known gambler of a father, she’d gone through three seasons with no prospects of marriage. Who could have imagined a duke would take an interest in her at her age?

If Fallon hadn’t come along, her father would have sold her off to Lord Tewksbury, and he would have yet, if she hadn’t taken matters into her own hands. The old bastard had lusted after her for years, even before his wife had died. Now, with the lady’s inheritance in his firm control, he’d bid for her again, and she’d find herself sharing the bed with a man older than her father.

No, she’d done the right thing, even if she’d have to endure a stranger’s touch to rescue herself. She just prayed the duke was a man of his word and would marry her if she pleased him.

Only, how could she do that? She knew nothing about sexual congress except that a man had some part of his body that he put inside her and the woman allowed him to do it to conceive his child.

Fallon would touch her so that he could watch her climax. She’d climaxed before through her own explorations, but always in secret so no one else knew of her shame. Could he actually want her to repeat that in front of him? And would she manage to do it? How utterly humiliating if she did and worse if she couldn’t.

She went to the bed, her bare feet sinking into the carpet. Using the stool, she climbed on top of the coverlet and lay on her back to stare up into the darkness. Calm. She’d remain calm. Relax as best she could.

Breathing evenly, she let her mind wander to her favorite fantasy. A green valley, nestled between towering mountains. The nearby waterfall sent jewels of spray into the air. Emerald, ruby, sapphire, all falling into the pool at the base of the mountain. She walked naked through the grass to the water.