Two Notorious Dukes (2 page)

He gasped, along with everyone else as the
richest woman in London strode purposefully through
the ornate doors in a gown that was almost transparent,
and without a cloak! Robert felt his manhood throb as
he looked at her aureoles through her bodice, like two
dusky buttons and he had a vivid recollection of them
on his tongue as he tormented them on the upper
landing of her townhouse.

‘Bloody hell!’ erupted from his neighbour’s
throat. ‘Is she wearing her nightclothes?’ John Argyll,
Duke of Goring, asked of anybody who was listening. He
was dressed in exactly the same clothes as Robert,
except his coat was dark blue.

‘Hello, Robbie. What are you doing at the
opera?’ Argyll asked impertinently.
‘Well, I was inspecting the cleavages on display,
but Lady Wentworth has just destroyed the
competition.’ Robert explained ruefully.
‘Spectacular, aren’t they?’ Lord Cranwell
murmured from Robert’s other side. ‘It’s such a pity my
father spent the family fortune at the gaming tables.’ He
sighed deeply. ‘I’ll never have enough money to attract
a beauty like that.’ William Cranwell, the Earl of
Warminster, was almost penniless and was looking for a
rich wife to maintain the family estate. His coat was a
dark red and like Robert, he was lithe and athletic
looking. But, in Robert’s opinion, he had a weak chin
and therefore would lose as much at the tables as his
father, if he ever managed to get a rich wife.
‘I don’t think any of us will ever have that much
money, William.’ Argyll said and Robert nodded sagely.
‘So the three of us will listen to a screeching
soprano, hope we have the right seat to watch Lady
Wentworth’s cleavage and play with ourselves all night!’
Robert said coarsely.
‘Steady on, Robbie!’ Argyll muttered. ‘Mater is
sharing the box, so keep your cocks in your britches!’
‘Have you seen these new fangled long trousers
that have come from France?’ William asked innocently.
‘The damned things have a single line of buttons!’
‘Preposterous!’ Argyll snorted.
‘But!’ William said and smiled lasciviously. ‘They
also have something called a pocket, to keep your hanky
and things in.’ Robert lifted an eyebrow, waiting for the
punch line. ‘Really handy if you want to play with
yourself!’
Robert looked down at William’s groin. ‘I can see
the appeal. It would certainly camouflage your
embarrassment!’
‘It might cover yours, too!’ William snapped and
turned away. Robert smiled generously, he liked to
tweak Cranwell’s nose from time to time. In this day of
tight fashionable britches, he couldn’t hide his
tumescence anymore than Cranwell could. The only
difference was that Robert accepted the reality and
didn’t really care who saw it! He turned to Argyll. ‘How
is your mother? I haven’t seen her for a while.’
Argyll scowled. ‘She has a new project.’ Robert
shuddered theatrically. He vividly recalled her last
project. It was some poor rascal that had piqued her
curiosity and she had to help him make his way in the
world. He made his way alright, with half the silver from
the dining room! Half the nobility of London turned up
to his hanging after the Bow Street Runners caught him
trying to sell it to a dealer, who unfortunately
recognised the coat of arms and informed the local
garrison. He twitched for nearly twenty minutes as his
body swung on the gibbet at Tyburn.
‘What is it this time?’ he asked as delicately as
he could.
‘Some bloody widow!’ Argyll said forcefully.
‘Have you seen her?’ Robert asked as his interest
was suddenly piqued.
‘No. But I’ll bet you a guinea she’s an old bag,
just like Mater!’
Right at that moment, Lady Verity Argyll stepped
through the doors, escorted by her beau, Lord
Monmouth, who was sixty five, if he was a day. She
swished her cloak off, looked over her shoulder and said
loudly. ‘Come along, girl! Don’t dawdle!’ as she threw
her velvet cloak to a steward.
Lady Verity Argyll, Dowager Duchess of Goring,
could never be mistaken for an old bag! She was fifty
three, yes, but she had the skin of a thirty year old and
the figure of a twenty year old. She was tall, elegant and
graceful. Nearly every head in the room turned at her
entrance. She was clad in the latest Paris fashion, but
her gown was opaque, instead of revealing. She exuded
good health, with a clear complexion, bright eyes and
her glossy chestnut hair was piled on her head in such a
way that she looked as if Monmouth had just ravished
her in the coach. She stood imperiously, waiting for
whoever was coming through the door. The footman
was patiently holding the door open.
Robert Bosworth felt as if he’d been kicked in
the groin as he looked at the perfect beauty that
appeared through the open door. Both Argyll and
Cranwell groaned loudly. ‘I think you owe me a guinea!’
Robert murmured.
Lady Elizabeth Audley, Countess of Craanford,
stepped daintily into the foyer and the eyes that were
on Lady Argyll all turned to the new arrival. A hush fell
over the room as the candlelight from the over head
chandeliers flashed off her glossy hair and illuminated
her flawless countenance. Robert looked carefully at her
from her head to her feet, starting with her hair, which
was a colour he’d never seen before. It was dark brown,
but not just brown, there were flashes of fiery red and
he was sure that it would look like the trees of autumn
in the sunshine. It was harshly restrained on the crown
of her head, except for the delicate ringlets that
tumbled about her face and neck like gossamer, the rest
of her coiffure was a riot of ringlets cascading over the
back of her head. Her face, was like a Madonna’s,
alabaster and expressionless, but he still wanted to kiss
her heart shaped lips. He couldn’t see the colour of her
eyes as they were looking at the floor demurely. But her
neck was long and elegant as it vanished into the collar
of her cloak. Robert could even see her pulse throbbing
in her throat. Monmouth peeled her cloak from her
shoulders and the exposed flesh above her bodice could
only be described as perfect. From the well at her
throat, it undulated smoothly to the depths of her
round and soft looking cleavage without bulging
obscenely. This woman had no need to dress in a
transparent gown; hers was made of silk, looked like
spun gold and after covering her shapely bosom, it fell
gracefully to the floor without revealing another facet of
her body. Robert could only admire her gilt slippers as
they peeped out from the hem of the gown. Her arms
were covered in long silk gloves that almost reached her
armpit and only revealed half an inch of pale ivory skin
below the puffy shoulder of her gown, and in her tiny
hands she held a small drawstring bag in the same
material as her gown and an ivory fan. She was perfect,
he decided. Petit and graceful, as a Lady should be.
‘Come along, Lady Elizabeth, I must introduce
you to Johnny and his friends!’ and with that Lady Verity
made a beeline for Argyll and his companions. The
gentlemen all murmured ‘Good evening Lady Verity.’ As
Argyll pecked her on the cheek and muttered ‘Good
evening Mother.’ and as Lady Elizabeth approached
Robert was shocked to realise that she was only as tall
as his sternum, because he was tall, like Argyll. All four
men towered over the petit woman.
Lady Verity was still trying to decide which of
these three men would be suitable for her young
widow. She made the introductions and all three men
bowed as they should and Lady Elizabeth still kept her
eyes demurely on the floor as she curtsied so gracefully
that Verity practically preened.
But which one would be
the right one?
She asked herself again.
All three of them
were rakes, with a string of conquests as long as your
arm and Argyll was her step son!
Still, the only one
worth looking at was Robert Bosworth as he was the
richest.
‘Well! Shall we go in?’ Argyll said and held his
arm out to the shy Lady Elizabeth, but he was wasting
his time, as she was suddenly looking at four arms, all
waiting for her to choose. She took a sharp step
backwards and then rested her hand on Monmouth’s
arm, as had been decided before they even reached the
venue. Argyll shrugged and turned to Lady Verity, only
to find that Robert Bosworth had beaten him to it.
They followed the crowd upstairs and took their
places in their box. The opera was stunning and
flawlessly performed, not that either Cranwell or
Bosworth took any notice. They were far too busy
watching Lady Elizabeth, and Robert had the best seat
in the house, because he could see the rise and fall of
her bosom. He was sitting behind and to the right of
her.
Lady Wentworth pales into insignificance besides
such beauty
, Robert decided during the second act, as
Lady Elizabeth flicked open her fan and wafted it lazily
in front of her face. Robert found it really endearing as
he noticed the gentle flush on her cheeks. It was hot in
the auditorium, but Cranwell was best placed to receive
the breeze from her fan.
Afterwards, they filtered out with everyone else
and again Monmouth escorted Lady Elizabeth. Lady
Verity had watched Bosworth as often as she could and
was happy to see his interest. But she didn’t want him
to just roger the young widow, she wanted him to marry
her.
Maybe I should just let nature take its course?
She
ruminated,
after all, she has a say in who will be her
next husband.
Robert followed them right to the coach and
waved goodbye as it jerked away. He looked at his
companions and smiled. ‘Who’s for White’s then?’ he
asked as he waited for his coach. Both Argyll and
Cranwell nodded distractedly. ‘Well, it would seem that
your Mater has given us something to think about?’
Robert said softly and thought about the only time that
Lady Elizabeth raised her eyes to look at him. She had
dropped her lace handkerchief and he picked it up and
held it out for her. She turned in her chair and took the
delicate square of lace from his fingers saying ‘Thank
you.’ Her voice was husky without being hoarse and her
eyes riveted him to the spot, as they held his gaze for a
split second before she looked down at the offending
linen. As she gently pulled it from his fingers, she flicked
her eyes up to his gaze again and he was surprised to
see her cheeks flame under his scrutiny. She turned
abruptly away, but left him gasping at the directness of
her gaze. It was almost challenging and her eyes were
such an arresting green, almost emerald.
Robert scrambled in his coach as it pulled up,
followed by Cranwell. He knew that Argyll would take
his own transport. ‘I suppose we’ll all be looking to be
serviced by the new whore that White’s have
employed?’ Cranwell mused.
‘I don’t need a whore!’ Robert said firmly. ‘Just a
willing woman.’ He smirked. ‘Any woman!’
‘Haven’t you ever been with a whore?’ Cranwell
asked in surprise.
‘Of course I have, but not for a few years.’ He
smiled beatifically. ‘I haven’t had to pay for sex
recently!’ he boasted proudly. ‘I don’t need to pay for it
with so many willing women about.’ He looked at
Cranwell. ‘And you shouldn’t have to either. Paying for a
whore won’t enhance your reputation and you need to
impress the ladies, rather than a whore.’
He sat and looked at his companion. He knew
that Cranwell was only twenty five and had inherited his
title when he was a child. His father had been the
biggest rake in London and Robert was aware that
Cranwell wanted to be exactly the same, but the
available ladies wouldn’t look at him, because he had no
fortune. He really would end up married to some rich
woman that looked like his prize mare!
Robert Bosworth tried not to excite the gossips,
but he rarely managed it as they seemed to watch his
every move. He would attend the fashionable functions
and watch amused as the matrons trotted out their
unmarried daughters for his inspection. But at thirtyfour, he wasn’t quite ready for marriage as he was too
busy rodgering Abigail Beresford. At the moment he
was waiting for Lord Beresford to return from India and
offer him out for a duel. But with any luck, Abigail would
be being rogered by somebody else at that time.
Once at White’s Gentlemen’s Club, they alighted
and strode through the ornate doors to be greeted by
the steward, who stood and held the door open.
‘Good evening Thomas,’ Robert said cordially as
he removed his cloak.
‘Good evening, Your Grace. The Prime Minister is
in attendance tonight and is whipping the Lord
Chancellor at Hazard.’ Thomas informed them as
Cranwell joined him in the foyer. ‘My Lord.’ Thomas
accepted Cranwell’s cloak.
Robert turned to Cranwell. ‘Well, if you’re going
to roger the whore, I’ll go and get myself a drink.’ He
said firmly and headed straight for the lounge. His
favourite seat was vacant so he ensconced himself in a
corner and crossed his legs to camouflage his need to
squeeze his manhood, as it was still throbbing from eye
contact with Lady Elizabeth Audley, Countess of
Craanford.
Argyll joined him as a steward brought a
decanter of brandy and two glasses. ‘So what did you
think of Mater’s new pet?’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t married the vixen!’
Robert said disgustedly. ‘I can assure you I wouldn’t be
waiting.’
‘I have no intention of waiting. I intend to
propose to the vixen tomorrow morning!’ Argyll said as
he poured his first drink. ‘Of course, the silly girl will say
no. But that’ll just open it up for you.’ He sat back and
slurped on the fiery spirit, as he watched Robert’s head
shake slowly from side to side. He knew Robert had
been disappointed in love when he was young, but he
didn’t know the details. He sighed as it burned the back
of his throat on its way down his gullet. ‘Anyway, I think
you’ll find Mater has her eye on you!’
‘Me?!’ Robert ejaculated and coughed as the
fumes from his brandy caught in the back of his throat.
‘Why would your mater assume I’d be interested in
marriage?’
‘I think that’s what she’s planning. To get you to
marry the wench!’ Argyll said morosely. ‘She spent all
night watching your face.’
‘Well, I must admit, she was a vision to behold,
but marriage is not for me.’ Robert spoke calmly,
although he didn’t feel calm. Talk of matrimony always
made him nervous. He preferred to tupp them and
leave them begging for more, while he kept his estate
intact.
‘Eventually you’ll need an heir, just like I do.’
Argyll said firmly and poured another drink. ‘It’s alright
for Cranwell and his four brothers, he hasn’t got any
money and needs to marry it, but you and I need a son
to inherit the estate, otherwise it goes to the crown,
and in my case a very kind step mother will end up on
the street!’