Dark Duke (10 page)

He blinked. “Of course I am.”

“You really wrote all those books?”

“Every word.” He paused. “Have you read them?”

“Every word.”

A smile curled his lips. “When can you start?”

A smile curled hers as well. “My lord, I already have.”

* * * * *

At his urging, she told Edward all about her interview with
Lord Hedon that night at dinner, a private little tête-à-tête in his suite. Of
course, she embellished.

“He was really quite mysterious,” she gushed. “Tall and
dark. He wore a mask and a cloak.” She took a bit of syllabub and faked a
shudder. “Quite something.”

“Was he?” For some reason he looked put out.

“Mmm. Very handsome.”

“I thought he was wearing a mask.”

“And tall.” She glanced at him. “Much taller than you.”

He frowned.

“And heavens. His accent.”

“He has an accent?”

“Very Continental. Quite exciting.”

He leaned forward, brows beetled. “You found his accent
exciting?”

“Quite. I think I shall enjoy working with him. We are to
work at his private club. He gave me the address.”

“Did he?”

If she didn’t know better, she would imagine he was jealous.
One couldn’t be jealous of oneself, could one?

“Imagine…he wrote all of those books. All those stories came
from his mind. What a brilliant man he must be.”

Edward shifted in his seat. Rearranged the napkin in his
lap. Frowned.

“We begin working tomorrow. What kind of story do you
suppose it will be? Pirates? Vikings? Slave traders in the Far East?”

“You have a salacious imagination.”

“His books are all very naughty.
Impropriety
was
particularly wicked. Do you suppose he will have me draw pictures of
spankings?”

He shifted again. “May we talk about something else?”

“Of course, Edward. What would you like to talk about?”

“I’d like to talk about you coming over here and sitting on
my lap.”

“Really? I am far too excited for that. Tomorrow we begin on
his new book.” She sighed and propped her chin in her hands. “What do you
suppose it will be about?”

“A girl, no doubt.”

“He does write about girls.”

“A girl who does not obey.”

Oh my. She did like that look on his face. It
was…intriguing. And ominous. She loved when he was ominous.

“A naughty girl.” She took another bite of syllabub. “So you
do think there will be spankings?”

“Kaitlin.”

“Yes?” She blinked innocently.

“Come over here and sit on my lap.”

“I shouldn’t. I have to work tomorrow, Edward. I really
should go to bed.”

“That was my plan.”

“Alone, silly. I must have my rest. Heaven only knows what
he shall command of me.” She pretended to shudder again.

The look on his face was beyond price. A mix of fury and
arousal and…confusion. “Kaitlin—”

“I have to go to his offices wearing a mask. How lurid is
that?”

“He is probably just trying to protect your reputation.”

“What kind of club do you suppose it is?”

“Kaitlin!” He leaped to his feet.

She blinked. There was no need to bellow. “Yes, Edward?”

“Stop talking about Lord Hedon.”

“But you said you wanted to hear every detail.”

“You’ve gone over every detail.” He raked his fingers
through his hair. “Now come over here and sit on my lap.”

She tipped her head to the side, letting a wicked smile
tease at her lips. “You’re no longer sitting.”

He sat. Patted his thigh. “Don’t make me punish you.”

This time, her shudder was real. Lust curled through her. He
was so hard and strong and commanding. Perhaps she didn’t need very much sleep
after all.

Edward fumed as he waited for Kaitlin to arrive at his rooms
at Madame Chantilly’s. Damn. Damn and blast. He’d never expected this. That she
would meet Lord Hedon and become so enamored with him. How on earth was he
going to keep up the charade? Pretending to be her employer, when all he really
wanted to do was fuck her?

It would be hard enough remembering to keep up that
ridiculous accent—the one she
loved
—much less keeping his hands off her.

And had he really arranged to meet with her
here
?

Madame Chantilly’s was the seat of all his decadence.

He and Mabry had spent countless hours posing the girls for
one plate or another, discussing plot twists and devices. Hell, he’d spent
countless hours here partaking in other activities as well.

That he was bringing Kaitlin here, with all the simmering
lust this place engendered, made him slightly uneasy.

He’d thought to have Bess or Nellie pose as she sketched,
increasing the play with each assignment. Initiating her slowly into the divine
delights of dominant play. She surely had an affinity for it.

He, however, doubted he possessed the resolve. How long
could he resist tossing her on the bed and planting himself in her quivering
body?

Oh, he’d had her this morning. Made damn sure of it. But his
cock was heavy and ready again. He couldn’t get enough of her.

A scratch at the door shattered his gloomy reverie. He
stormed to the door and wrenched it open and—

It was her.

Kaitlin. In a long dark cloak and mask. Clutching a large
sketchbook. Her hair, unrestrained, tumbled over her shoulders.

Damn. She wore her hair down for
him
?

Annoyance snarled in his gut.

“Come in,” he barked. When she complied, he slammed the
door.

She spun around, her eyes wide. “My lord, am I too early?”

“What?”

“Am I disturbing you?”

“Not in the slightest.” She disturbed him a great deal, just
not the way she meant.

“I… Well, fine.” She set her book on the table and took off
her mask, glancing around the opulent chamber, taking in the desk against the
wall, the wardrobe by its side and the two comfortable chairs—one with arms,
the other without. Her gaze stalled on the bed. “You have a bed in your
offices?”

“These are also my quarters.”

“Are they?” Her lips quirked. She busied herself taking out
her charcoals. “Shall we begin?”

“Certainly.”

“I thought perhaps you could tell me a bit about the story
as I sketch.”

“Fine.”

She took a seat—in the chair with the arms. His fingers
curled. Why was it little lambs always chose the chair with the arms? Didn’t
they know how tempting that was? Why, in a trice, he could have her trussed up
and helpless. Squirming.

How much would she adore Lord Hedon then?

She laid out a fresh sheet, smoothed it flat. “Will you
always work with your mask on?”

He started. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, I don’t mind in the slightest, though I imagine it’s
uncomfortable for you.” She shot him a look. A naive, trusting,
innocent
look. It only tormented him more.

Images, memories, visions of trysts past crowded in. Every
single one of them involved a woman tied to the bed, bound to the chair,
splayed over the table. In most, their arses glowed red. In every one, they
came.

She quirked a brow. “Aren’t you going to sit?”

God, he’d better. His cock could knock over the table if he
turned too quickly. “Fine.”

“All right then.” She picked up a piece of charcoal. “Why
don’t we begin? What is this story about?”

He put his teeth together. “A girl.” Probably no need to
snarl.

She nodded. “Yes. Yes. A girl who refuses to obey.
How…original.” He frowned at her. She ignored him. “I was talking about the
plot. What is the
story
about?”

“A highwayman.”

“Really, Lord Hedon. You are going to have to be much more
forthcoming if I am to do my work.”

The prim look on her face lit some kind of nasty fuse within
him. It horrified him that she was intrigued by Lord Hedon—who wrote truly
salacious novels. That she had willingly come to his rooms, in a whorehouse,
for Christ’s sake, and was now needling him to tell her the plot of his latest
iniquity…well, it was far too much for a man to take.

He really needed to teach her a lesson.

“All right. The name of the book is
Brigand
.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Really?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

She shrugged. “It’s all right, I suppose. But not very
gripping.”

“It is so.”

“Really, it’s not.”

He banged a fist on the table. “It is plenty gripping.” He’d
agonized over it for hours.

Oh, she really needed a lesson.

“Fine,” she huffed and began sketching a highwayman. As she
worked, he thought he heard her mumble, under her breath, “But it’s really not
very gripping.”

Her sketch was, though. And while it took her moments, mere
lines here and there, she captured the scene he’d had in his mind for the
opening of the book—and she hadn’t even read it.

“How’s that?” She held it up.

He nodded. “Perfect.” It was. “On to the next.” At this
rate, they would be done before lunch. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“So—we have our highwayman.”

“Yes. The caption for that one is…” He nibbled his cheek.

“Yes?”

“The caption for that one is
Brigand
.” This he said
in a small voice. Because he knew what was coming. And yes, she rolled her
eyes.

“Next?”

“Our heroine. In a coach. On the road. At night. Alone.”

“Not very wise.”

“Don’t interrupt.”

She chewed on her lip as she sketched. He yearned to do the
same. They were lovely lips.

“He comes upon her. Halts the coach—”

“I gathered as much.”

“Please don’t interru—”

She held up the page. God. Yes. That was it exactly. Only…
“Can’t you make her expression more…dewy?”

“She’s being robbed. On the road. In the middle of the
night. She will hardly be dewy.”

“Fine.” He crossed his arms over his chest. He’d never
suspected she would be so difficult. Mabry had never disagreed with him. Not
once.

“And the caption?”

“
Robbed!
”

She rolled her eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing. Please continue.”

“Once he sees her he knows at once, he must have her. So he
knocks out her coachman—”

“Poor coachman.”

He glared at her.

She ignored him.

“He knocks out her coachman and takes her prisoner. She
struggles.”

But she was already drawing that. The lovely armful of woman
caught in the clutches of a dark demon bandit. She captured the struggle
wonderfully. The image made him restless.

Or maybe it was the woman by his side.

He lowered his voice an octave. “He cannot abide struggles,
so he ties her hands. A close up, I think, of her hands, bound with rope.”

“Hmm. He doesn’t waste any time, does he, our
brigand
?”

He did not comment on the way she said the word. Though it
annoyed him. It also provoked him. To mischief. She really should have known
better than to provoke him.

Then again, she didn’t
know
who he was. Not really.

He glanced at the sketch. It was perfect. Still, when she
looked up at him he shook his head. “No. Not quite right.”

Her face puddled. “What do you mean?”

“The angle of the knots… Here. Let me show you.” He crossed
to the armoire, where he kept his playthings. He let the door swing wide. So
she could see the whips and quirts and paraphernalia. He selected a length of
rope and turned back to the table. As he had hoped, she’d noticed. Her eyes
were wide, her mouth agape.

He smiled wickedly. “I find it helps to have aids.”

“A-aids?”

“Yes. For visual cues, don’t you know.” He knelt before her,
excitement humming in every thread of his being. He was dying to see how far
she would go—how far she would let
him
go. “Put out your hands.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Put out your hands. I’ll show you how it should look.”

Her lips twisted wryly. “Doubtless, it will be difficult for
me to draw with my wrists tied.”

“Please. Indulge me.”

To his delight, and his chagrin, she did. He wrapped the
rope around her wrists and secured it with his favorite knot.

“There. Try to get free.”

She turned her hands this way and that. As he’d known—from
years of experience—she could not slip out. Ah. Once a man had her hands, he
had it all. Silly girl.

“You see the difference? Between this and the knot you
drew?”

She studied her sketch. “N-no.”

He placed a hand on her knee and grinned up at her,
attempting to make it the most evil grin he could manage. “This knot is real.”

Her lips made a charming little “O”. “Lord Hedon, I don’t
think—”

“No. You didn’t think, did you? Coming here, to my rooms,
unescorted, thinking a silk mask would protect you.” He stood and stepped
behind her, lifting her arms over her head and back, quickly lashing the end of
the rope to a ring on the back of the chair. This thrust her breasts out at a
tempting angle.

“Lord Hedon! What are you—”

“Hush, darling. You’re in my power now.”

“But what about our work?”

Seriously? That was all she was worried about? She was about
to be ravaged by the biggest rake in Christendom and all she could talk about
was her sketches?

He cupped her breasts, both of them. Tweaked twin peaks.
“Hush.” This, he whispered in her ear. “I wouldn’t want to have to gag you.”

A flush crept up her cheeks. She wriggled and writhed and
tried to get free, although he fancied she didn’t try too hard. He didn’t know
if he should be gratified or annoyed. He chose annoyed. Because, damn, this was
some other man as far as she knew. Some stranger. Some feckless villain!

He yanked up her skirts and she squealed.

She didn’t yell or holler or bellow. She
squealed
.

As though she liked it.

His mood darkened.

He stormed back to the armoire and found two straps and a
quirt, the one he’d used as inspiration for Asha’s whipping with the sheik. He
lifted one of Kaitlin’s thighs over the arm of the chair and strapped it in
place. And then the other. Pushing her annoying skirts out of the way—God, he
should have stripped her first—he exposed her cunt.

Beautiful.

He teased her curls.

She was wet.

Rage snarled through him. Because she was wet. For another
man.

He glared at her. She gazed at him with dewy—yes, fucking
dewy
—eyes.
Her lips were parted. Her breath came out in pants. With rough fingers he held
open the folds of her labia, exposing her clitoris. It was swollen, slick.

Rage and arousal battled within him. They both won.

He brought down the leather tip of the quirt, straight onto
her nubbin.

She groaned, arched, writhed against her bonds. “Oh, yes.
Yes.”

God. He hated this. Also, he loved it.

Again and again he smacked her pearl, alternating with
swipes of his questing tongue. Her taste, her scent was delightful,
excruciating.

He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t. He took her into his mouth
and sucked, nibbled, nipped. She cried out again, angling her hips up toward
him as far as her bonds would allow. With her legs lashed to the arms of the
chair and her arms bound behind her, she was not able to wiggle much. He loved
that she tried.

He also loved the fact that when she did so, she offered him
entrance to her steaming cunt. He slipped the handle of the quirt inside.

She watched, agony written on her face.

Good. She deserved it. For letting another man touch her
like this, have her like this, torment her like this.

In his fury, he shoved the quirt deeper, at the same time,
pinching her nipple. Unable to stop himself, he smacked her cunt again, the
sound echoing off the walls.

She stiffened, threw her head back and came, howling his
name. “Edwaaard!”

He froze. Yanked out the quirt. She seized again.

Confusion racked him. Conflicting emotions warred within
him. She had allowed a stranger intimacies he’d considered his and his alone.
Yet she’d cried his name when she came. What did that mean? He hadn’t a clue.

Then again, his brain was rather fogged with lust. Dewy with
it, perhaps.

He waited until she recovered herself before he said
anything. When, finally, with a heady groan, she lifted her head, he caught her
chin and held her gaze. “Why did you call me ‘Edward’ when you came?”

She snorted a little laugh. Tugged on her bonds. “Don’t be
ridiculous. Untie me now. We have work to do.”

“Why did you call me ‘Edward’ when you came?”

“Because it’s your name, silly. Now untie me.”

Realization slammed through him. Fury. Relief. Annoyance.
Lust. All swirling together.

He stood. Ripped off the mask. Stared at her. “How long have
you known?”

She stilled. The grin flickering over her face was impish.
“Why, from the very first. In Mr. Dithers’ office.”

He gaped. Last night? All this morning? She’d known? She’d
been teasing him?

He wagged the quirt at her. “You are a naughty little minx.”

“Surely you didn’t think I wouldn’t recognize you? Edward, I
could recognize you if you were wearing a full domino and I were blindfolded.
In a dark room. Now please, untie me.”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t think so.”

She put out a lip. “We have work to do.”

“
I
have work to do.”

She gaped as he made his way to the armoire, pulling out one
item after another and making sure she got a good look at each.