The Hallucinatory Duke (4 page)

Finally, as five o’clock approached, she decided she had gone as far as possible with research in the library, so she closed her notebook and made her way to the front steps. She didn’t want to go back to her apartment and spend another evening alone, so she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and called her best friend from college. Julie, who’d majored in business and who enjoyed a secure job in management at an import-export company, answered on the first ring. “Hey, Amie girl. What are you doing?”

Amelia smiled. Julie always had that effect on her mood. “I’m hoping you can meet me for dinner. Or do you have plans?”

“Remember the hunk I told you about who moved into the VP’s office last week?”

“The tall, dark, and too-handsome-to-be-single-or-straight guy?”

“That’s the one. Well, I was wrong. He’s both single
and
straight, and we’re having an after-work drink tonight. We’re just going down the street to Marchi’s Bar, but it’s definitely a date. Thank goodness I have a few accessories in my desk drawer, so I can add a little bling before he stops by my office.”

Amelia’s mood took an immediate detour south but she forced a smile into her voice. “Excellent! Call me tomorrow with all the details.”

“Will do. Gotta run. Talk to you later.”

Amelia pocketed her cell. This was one of those times when she almost wished she and Marcus hadn’t broken up.
Almost
being the operative word. There were worse things than being lonely, and Marcus had turned out to be one of those things.

Of course, she had other friends she could call. She could even—heaven help her—give her parents a ring. But Mom would want her to come home for dinner and Amelia didn’t feel like driving to Decatur. She might as well go back to her apartment and get to work.

* * * *

Three hours later, she leant back in her desk chair and rubbed her eyes. “Damn you, Ben,” she muttered. He’d certainly not exaggerated when he’d told her Martha Comstock’s handwriting wasn’t the best. Her spelling left a lot to be desired too, and the ink she’d used had faded until it was barely darker than the yellowed paper she had written on.

Worse, so far the diary had turned out to be nothing but a boring recitation of daily activities.

March 30: Today Ellen Harrison came to visit and stayed far too long. I feared I would have to invite her to dinner. Fortunately, she left after tea.

April 2: Today I walked to the village and bought a length of yellow ribbon to trim my best bonnet. It should do for another season if I brighten it up a bit.

And on and on.

After Amelia had entered sixty or seventy such entries in the file she’d created for the diary, she decided she would force Ben to read every one of them, even if she had to hold a gun to his head.

Bored beyond her tolerance, she stood, stretched and walked over to the window so she could pet Wellington, sitting on his usual sill. She figured she’d torment herself by looking at the cars whizzing by on the street outside. Some people obviously had a life and, as a consequence, they had places to go.

Wellington seemingly didn’t want to share his window because he jumped down and hissed.

“Hey, bud, no need to get pissy. I pay rent on this windowsill, you know. Besides, I’ve sat in that computer chair so long that my rear has passed being tired and moved on to total numbness now.” She reached back and gave both butt cheeks a vigorous rub.

A man’s voice sounded from behind her. “That’s rather vulgar behaviour, even for a courtesan.”

Amelia resisted turning around and confronting her hallucination. “Ignore him and he’ll go away,” she advised herself.

“Are you speaking of me? Because if you are, I have no intentions of leaving until I find out why you keep probing into my life.”

Amelia continued to stare out of the window. She could see her reflection in the glass. She could also see that no one stood behind her. She sighed. “Why me? I’m just trying to make a living here.”

His voice sounded again. “Frankly, my dear, at this rate, I would expect that you will soon be going hungry. I’ll admit that your golden hair is very appealing. In fact, I’ve always been partial to blondes, but you can’t become a successful courtesan unless you improve upon your wardrobe. If you’re going to greet people wearing just your underclothes, you should buy some that are attractive. Those drawers you have on are the ugliest I’ve ever seen, and they’re exceedingly strange in appearance, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Although she was fairly certain she shouldn’t engage in conversation with an imaginary person, Amelia couldn’t let his complaint just slide. “I don’t care how many derogatory things you say about my jeans, because you’re not really here and so you can’t possibly have any lasting effect on me.”

“Really?” He’d apparently stepped up close to her back because his hands insinuated themselves between her sides and her arms. He then cupped both breasts, which were bare under her T-shirt. His touch, as before, sent her senses reeling and started her blood boiling. She closed her eyes and leant back into him. For a hallucination, he felt amazingly solid.

He palmed her breasts, massaging them in smooth, circular motions until her vision darkened and she feared that her entire body would combust. She tried to tell him to stop, but discovered she didn’t have the will power. “I’ve got to start dating again,” she murmured.

“I wish you’d cease talking to yourself. I’m right here, you know.” He stopped playing with her breasts long enough to slip his hands under her shirt. She shivered as he dragged his cool palms across her overheated rib cage before cradling her breasts again. This time, he flicked his long and talented fingers across her nipples until they hardened. Then he grasped both and pinched.

Strangely, the pain merely accentuated the pleasure he was bringing her. “Oh, yes,” she murmured aloud. “You know, if you were real, I’d want your mouth on me.”

“Where would you like my mouth?”

Her brain was shutting down because her senses were taking over. “Your mouth? First on my breasts and then my pussy.”

He paused. “Pussy? Are you talking about your cat, or is this some new word courtesans use in reference to their quims?”

“Quim?” Amelia dragged her fingers through her hair, hoping to jump-start her brain. She shouldn’t be talking to this whatever-he-was, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “Oh for heaven’s sake, the word
quim
has been out of fashion for a hundred years or more. If I hadn’t been a history major, I wouldn’t have known what you were talking about.”

He snorted. “That’s ridiculous. My former mistress used the word often enough when she begged me to pleasure her. She liked my mouth on her quim. Do you like men who pleasure you that way?” He gave her nipples another squeeze before sliding his hands toward her waist.

Amelia became convinced that her brain was short-circuiting when she allowed the hallucinatory duke to unfasten her jeans and push them over her hips. They were just below her knees when he paused and let out a hiss of derision. “Is this what courtesans are wearing these days? What do you call that scrap of material?”

“It’s a thong.” Amelia couldn’t believe that her face was turning warm, or that her pussy was growing hotter. In fact, the scrap of fabric between her legs that had puzzled the duke felt as though it might start dripping at any second.

“Well, take the thing off and I’ll pleasure you with my mouth.”

“No,” Amelia stated in a voice as emphatic as she could manage, but her will was too weak for her to object when he cupped her mound in his hand.

“You’re very moist. Are you sure you don’t want me to pleasure you?”

Amelia moaned. She knew she should move away, but his fingers were applying just enough pressure to start her pussy clenching with need.

“Tell me what you want,” the duke demanded. He taunted her through the silk stretched across her crotch.

“Pleasure me,” Amelia murmured, thrusting her hips towards his hand, which he immediately withdrew.

“Lie down on the bed then, and spread your legs for me.”

Amelia kicked off her jeans and stepped out of her thong. She couldn’t believe she was doing this, but, strangely, she was discovering that she’d never wanted anything more than to allow this man—this duke who didn’t really exist except in her mind—to have his way with her body.

“Take off that ugly garment covering your breasts,” he demanded the instant she reached the side of the bed.

She obeyed immediately, tossing her T-shirt onto the far side of the bed. She moaned aloud when he turned her to face him and lifted both her breasts, supporting their weight in his hands. He pushed them together then flicked his thumbs across her nipples, which were aching with need. “Shall I suck on these a while, or go straight to your kitty?”

“The word’s
pussy,”
Amelia managed to gasp.

“I prefer
quim
but I’ll humour you. Shall I go straight to your pussy?”

“Yes, please.” Amelia pushed the words out through a throat tight with desire.

He released her breasts and she lowered herself to the bed, pulled her knees up and spread her legs. She couldn’t stop looking at him, thinking that at any second, his image would simply dissolve or fade away, leaving her alone again and extremely horny.

But he appeared solid enough, and when he climbed onto the foot of the bed, the mattress dipped and the springs creaked, just as though he were real.

Suddenly too confused to think, Amelia closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensations that pulsed through her body when she felt his warm fingers sliding between her folds.

After a few seconds, he stopped touching her. Gritting her teeth, she opened her eyes and looked down, afraid he’d changed his mind. But he had merely paused to reach for a pillow, which he folded in half.

“Raise your hips,” he commanded, and she didn’t hesitate. Within seconds, he’d stuffed the pillow under her bottom and was lowering his head. When he parted her folds with his fingers and dragged his tongue over her clit, she hissed as desire engulfed her. He flicked her with his tongue again but then raised his head. Before Amelia could catch her breath long enough to object, he stuck two fingers inside her and pressed against a spot that sent pleasure spiralling from her head to her toes.

“Oh God, oh yes, oh please don’t stop,” she begged.

But he pulled back again. She’d been on the brink of coming, and his withdrawal had her moaning out an objection.

“If you want more, you must do as I say. Flip over onto your stomach.”

“Why?” Amelia didn’t like this turn of events, but she lifted her hips and pulled the pillow out.

“Either obey me, or I’ll leave you without your release.” He was staring at her breasts, and she could feel her nipples responding to his gaze—a gaze that was as stirring as some men’s kisses. She turned onto her stomach.

“Very good,” he murmured. “Now get on your knees and lift your buttocks into the air.”

Her pussy throbbed, obviously anticipating pleasures to come. She stuck her butt up, and when she did, he brought a hand down hard on her left cheek. “Ouch! Why did you do that?”

Another hard slap on her right cheek. “Don’t you enjoy a good spanking?” he asked, administering another slap onto her left cheek.

Amelia tensed, waiting for another slap on her right buttock, but that one didn’t come.

“Answer me. Do you want the spanking to continue or not?”

“Yes, please.” She couldn’t believe she’d just said that, but somehow the pain was satisfying her in a way that she’d never experienced before.

He spanked her—a total of six times on each butt cheek—before running his hand up between her legs and parting her labia from behind. “Do you want to come this way or on your back?”

“On my back, please.” She flipped over and spread her legs. Somewhere in the back of her mind it occurred to her that courtesans in the duke’s era probably showed more modesty than she was exhibiting, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to come—nothing else mattered at the moment.

He chuckled before climbing back onto the bed at her feet. Using both hands, he spread her pussy open wide. “You’re very slick,” he commented. “You should taste good.” Then he lowered his head and she shuddered as his tongue found her clit.

Her climax hit too soon. She wanted to drag it out for hours, but within a matter of seconds, she’d peaked and was coming back down. As soon as she opened her eyes, she realised the duke was gone.

She lay, practically in a stupor, while her heart rate slowed. She felt almost too spent to move, but then the air conditioning clicked on and cold air pulsed over her, chilling her overheated body. She sat up long enough to grab the sheet and pull it up. Then she rolled onto her side, closed her eyes, and immediately went to sleep.

Chapter Four

Amelia awoke the following morning with a slight headache and a lurking sense of dread, no doubt compounded by the fact that she felt completely mystified by recent events. She’d never subscribed to the supernatural in any form, but this damn duke had her worried. She didn’t want any more visits from him, and the only way she knew to distance herself was to quit researching for Ben.

Of course, she needed the money she earned by working for him, but she’d just have to find some other way to pay her rent. If worst came to worst, she could always float a loan from her parents.

Having reached that conclusion, she blew her breath out in a sigh of relief, then strode into the kitchen to feed Wellington and grab a glass of iced tea. It felt good to ignore her computer and that blasted diary Ben had wanted her to transcribe for him. She’d give him a call after she showered and make arrangements to return it to him, along with her formal resignation. He’d be pissed, of course, but he’d just have to cope.

When she stepped out of the tub twenty minutes later, she heard her cell phone chiming to indicate that she had voicemail. She wrapped herself in a towel and cracked the door so she could peer into the bedroom. She no longer felt comfortable moving around her apartment in the nude, not since she’d started getting a visitor from the past.