CHAPTER 8
S ylvie proved to have an appointment with the dancing instructor before lunch. Esmeralda accompanied her to the ballroom where a fastidiously attired young man awaited her. She sat and gave every appearance of dozing off during the lesson, but was actually composing what she intended to write. The adoring glances that the instructor gave Sylvie could only turn Esmeralda’s thoughts to courtship and intimacy. After an hour of watching them, she abandoned the pair – with a maid in attendance, under Farrell’s cold gaze – and retreated to her chamber. She locked the door, abandoned her disguise and rang for her maid. Within moments, Perkins had ensured her comfort and secured the door, also taking away the contributions for the dogs hidden in Mrs. Oliver’s dress.
The actress was a marvel. If Ophelia had not insisted she was having a wonderful time herself, Esmeralda might have felt guilty to have stolen her away from the city. But the other woman regaled her with imitations of those in the kitchens, proving that she was researching the portrayal of character while at her duties.
Esmeralda, her hair unbound again and dressed in a robe of garnet silk, sat down at the small desk and began to write. There was so much to do! She had several chapters in mind to commit to the page, then a collection of excerpts to copy for the bride, yet precious little time to see the task completed. Her plan was to send the copy of the book as a wedding gift when the roses were dispatched in the morning, and had asked Ophelia to contrive a way to see it done.
She reviewed the chapters already composed and chose a selection for this spirited bride and her daring partner. Did Miss Emerson know the full tale of her betrothed’s past? Esmeralda would guess that she did not. Was the twin brother still in the vicinity? She did not know and hoped that the brothers did not plan a jest upon the bride.
There was a passage about the bane of habit in which she mentioned disguises. She would expand upon that. Also, she doubted that a young lady deemed to be so lively would be content with a dutiful coupling. The viscount might have need of some encouragement to be bolder – though Esmeralda suspected the lady in question might need little encouragement to put him completely in her thrall.
She must write also about first encounters. It was to be a gift for a newly wed couple, after all.
Esmeralda found herself humming under her breath as she began to write and had to acknowledge that there was little that gave her such joy as composing these passages. She would like little better than to write all of the time, but that was impossible so long as she had bills to pay. Soon she would be back in London and have even less time for her project.
Esmeralda paused to consider that before dipping her pen again. Was there a compromise that might be worth making? She could agree to the duke’s request to become his mistress alone. Such an arrangement would grant her more time to finish her book, even to establish herself as an author. Even the duke could not command her attention all of every day and night. And he had proven himself a pleasing partner.
Perhaps the surrender of an increment of her freedom would better serve her ultimate goal. She would have to think about it more.
But in the meantime, Esmeralda began to write.
Upon the importance of first encounters. Suggestions for the lady and for the gentleman…
Never had a day lasted so long as this one, to Damien’s thinking. He was uncertain whether to be disappointed or not when Mrs. Oliver requested a tray in her room at dinner. Had that been because Esmeralda knew his mother had done the same? Or had she wished to avoid him as well? He could not say, but the meal in the absence of both of them seemed to take a year. He sat at one end of the table, Sylvie halfway down one side. She told him of her lessons that day and expressed her enthusiasm for the wedding the following day. He strove to be interested but in truth, he was missing the sparkling conversation of Miss Esmeralda Ballantyne.
He could not dismiss the idea of winning her hand in his own. Was it madness? Was it merely due to an infatuation? He knew there had to be solid reasons to put the notion aside but was disinclined to list them himself.
He wanted to confer with Esmeralda.
He did not wish to delay any longer – and yet, it was absurdly early.
Had someone slowed the progress of the clock? Its regular ticking seemed ponderous to him on this night, impatience making him chafe to be gone.
Of course, Damien could not retire in haste lest there be concern about his health, so he dutifully went to the library for his brandy. He fairly tapped his toe waiting on Sylvie’s appearance, then endured a cup of tea with her as he taught her the rules of whist. She was not an instinctive card player, having no inclination to keep secrets and confidences – he knew at a glance whenever she had a good card, as undoubtedly would anyone else. He tried not to win too quickly, but finally she yawned delicately and excused herself.
He ensured his pace was steady as he strode toward his room, neither too quick or too slow. He even paused to discuss the prospect of good weather on the morrow with Farrell. He dared not hasten Townsend, who seemed to be uncommonly particular about his garments on this particular night, but finally – finally! – the man left him.
Anticipation hot within him, Damien tapped gently on the door that let into the dark blue room.
Esmeralda opened it immediately and he smiled to finally be alone with her. He drank in the sight of her and wondered how she had become more beautiful in just one day. He admired the dark glory of her unbound hair, the intelligence in her gaze and the way her red silk robe followed her curves. He had felt at odds all the day long but now, he was content.
And it was more than the prospect of physical satisfaction.
It was the lady’s company.
Damien lifted a hand toward her, but Esmeralda retreated a step.
She frowned, seemingly impatient, and Damien recognized that his mood was not shared. Did she think all was resolved between them after only one night? He would argue that, given the chance.
Yet he was not certain he would have one.
How very unusual. He should have been insulted, but instead he was intrigued.
“I did not expect you so soon,” she said crisply, returning to the small desk in one corner.
He did not miss the irony that he had yearned for the truth from her and yet he did not appreciate this honesty. “I was intent upon seeing you,” he said mildly, following her into her chamber. He parted his lips, reconsidered the wisdom of his confession, then made it anyway. “I missed you today.”
And now he sounded like a besotted young whelp.
Esmeralda scarce noticed. “And I still have much to do,” she said, not even glancing toward him. She sat down at the writing desk in the corner and dipped her quill into the ink.
It appeared that she had been writing, though he could not imagine she had this much correspondence so soon after her arrival. There were veritable stacks of paper on the desk, each sheet covered with neat handwriting.
“Are you writing a book?” he asked, for that was the first thought prompted by the sight of so many pages of script.
She granted him a sharp glance. “Of course, I am. You know of it already.”
Damien stared at her in shock. “Not the book of amorous advice for women?”
“The very one.” She held his gaze, a challenge in her own. “The one you so heartily disapprove of.”
This was unexpected – and worse, she would turn him aside on this night for the sake of a scandalous volume that could never be published. “I thought it a fiction,” he said, gauging her commitment to the notion before he fully expressed his disapproval.
“It will be a fact.” Esmeralda ruffled through the stack of papers, choosing half a dozen and setting them aside. She frowned at another, then added it to the pile. “This one, as well,” she murmured almost to herself, flicking through the pile once more.
Damien DeVries was not accustomed to being ignored.
He cleared his throat.
Esmeralda did not appear to hear him.
He coughed lightly.
She read a passage, dipped her pen and began to copy it onto a fresh sheet of paper.
“We have an agreement,” he reminded her, hearing his own disapproval of her manner in his voice.
“And I am occupied, for at least another hour. Perhaps two. I must have these pages copied in full before I embark upon any leisurely activities.” She cast him a quick tight smile. “I am certain you will understand.”
But he did not.
He waited and she wrote, apparently untroubled by either his silence or his presence. He moved to her side and she barely glanced at him. “A step to the right, Your Grace, if you please,” she said to his surprise. “You are blocking the light.”
He bent down and lowered his voice. “And you forget your obligation.”
She froze then, the quill in the air, and a drop of ink fell onto the paper. Esmeralda did not blot it, but spun to face him, a welcome fire simmering in the depths of her eyes.
This was more to his expectation. His very blood quickened.
“Your Grace,” she began with precision but he interrupted her.
“Damien,” he corrected.
Her dark brow lifted and her tone remained resolute. “Your Grace,” she repeated. “In this specific moment, I cannot indulge your desire. I have a matter of personal importance to attend, and it must be done first. I assure you that I will attend upon you—” she glanced at the clock on the mantle “—before midnight.”
“But you are a guest in my home, precisely so you can indulge my desire, and I do not choose to wait until midnight.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “And your will must erase my own?”
“Should it not be so?”
She inhaled sharply, proof of his mis-step. “And you wonder why I do not wish to place myself beneath the authority of any man. You wonder that I think it folly for a woman to make herself available to a single man, or to cede to his wishes alone.” She rose to her feet and turned upon him, so magnificent in her outrage that he could only stare. “It does not matter how well matters begin – sooner or later, men desire more, and men insist upon their desire being ascendant. Are you proud that you have proven me right, Your Grace?”
“I asked you to call me Damien.”
“And I told you that I would be no man’s thrall!”
“You are mine for so long as you stay in this house,” he insisted.
“Then I will leave. I can leave immediately or at first light…”
“Esmeralda!”
She shook a finger before him. “You will not summon me like a hound, if you wish to maintain my goodwill.”
“I do not summon you like a hound! I come to your chamber, as arranged, to meet for our mutual satisfaction.”
“Yet I have something to do first.”
“Writing a book.”
“Yes.”
“A book of intimate advice for women.”
“The very one.”
Here was a social convention that could not be bent, and if Esmeralda did not recognize that truth, Damien would tell her of it. “A book that can never be published and never will be published, due to its scandalous content.”
“You cannot know as much. London is full of publishers.”
“And it is similarly filled with women and men who know their respective places.”
“Again you will tell me of your view of my project. I am well aware of your disapproval, sir, and it changes nothing .”
“It should. Of course, I disapprove of such a volume,” he replied, his tone heating. “It is entirely inappropriate for ladies of quality to know more of such matters than their husbands deign to tell them…”
Esmeralda drew herself up to her full height, her eyes flashing fire. “And if ladies of quality should not know what I know, what does that make me? No wonder you would summon me like a hound.”
“I did not do as much and you know it well, though you had no compunction in dismissing me from my own drawing room.”
She almost smiled at that, as if proud of the memory. “You were surprised.”
“And why would I not be? Why would you speak in such a way?”
“Perhaps it is good for you to have your expectation challenged.”
“In my own home? I think not.” Damien strove to defend himself and his view, though already he sensed that to be a losing proposition. “Recall, Esmeralda, that you are a courtesan.”
Again, she sobered and he knew he had erred. “I guarantee, Your Grace, that I seldom have the opportunity to forget as much.”
“You know things that most women do not. Indeed, that is part of your charm.”
“My charm? If it is charming that I know how bodies can join sweetly, why should a wife – or a lady of quality – lack that credential? Would you have every marriage in the empire be unhappy?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why should women be denied such knowledge, particularly when it could improve the happiness of their marriages?”
Damien knew his tone was dismissive. “Because it is inappropriate.”
This choice of word did not improve her mood in the least. “Inappropriate to know what to expect of a wedding night? Inappropriate to know what will happen in the marital bed? Inappropriate to know what her husband will expect of her, and how they both might better enjoy their union?”
“Such a volume would be sordid and you know it.”
“I know no such thing. To be sure, I am disappointed that you believe me to be both sordid and lacking in quality. I wonder that you come to this chamber at all, much less that you invited me to be your guest at all.”
“Esmeralda!”
She propped her hands upon her hips and surveyed him. “What will people think of your taste in guests, Your Grace?” If she knew how the pose made her waist appear smaller and her curves more luscious, he knew she would abandon it.
Or perhaps she did know, and sought to distract him.
He folded his arms across his chest to keep from fitting his hands around her waist. “Esmeralda, you twist my words...”
“I have no need to do so, sir, for you insult me with every sentence you utter. There is no need to contrive a different meaning than the most obvious one.” Her brow arched high. “A clever man would recognize the wisdom of falling silent at this point, and I had thought you clever once.”
That was more than he should endure. Indeed, his voice rose. “I will not fall silent when you would deny an issue so clear. Matters are different for women and you know it well!”
“They are indeed, and whose doing is that?”
There was no answer that would exonerate him and Damien only watched her.
She exhaled in frustration when he did not reply and gestured toward the adjoining door. “You may leave, sir.”
Damien blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I invite you to leave this chamber as our perspectives are not in harmony.”
“You are in my house.”
“You demanded honesty between us at all times and I offer you a measure of it now. I do not desire your presence on this night.” She pointed to the door, her manner imperious.
She was audacious and outrageous – and wrong. Damien braced a hand upon his own hip. “And so you dismiss me, just as you bade me leave my own breakfast this morning.”
“It is not at all the same. I wished to speak with Sylvie then. In this moment, in contrast, I do not wish to speak with you, much less do anything more.”
“Yet you are here at my invitation.”
“I can remedy that situation at first light.” She held his gaze, her resolve more than clear. “I can remedy it now if so provoked.”
Damien was uncertain how matters had gone so badly awry so quickly. “Why are you so irked?” he demanded. “I only remind you of what you must already know. Such a book can never be published.”
“It can and it will be. It must be!”
“You would defy all decency in putting such a volume into the world…”
“Decency?” She confronted him with flashing eyes. “You have not even read the volume in question, yet you would call it indecent as well as sordid. Do you customarily judge matters without reviewing the evidence first? If so, I should not like to abide in your holdings.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Damien snapped up a sheet covered with her handwriting. If he thought to reassure himself that her confession would be flowery and vague, filled with sentiment instead of detail, he was to be proven wrong.
Upon the question of frolic…
There are those who appreciate a measure of whimsy in the bedroom, and truly, where better to indulge in a fantasy than in privacy with one’s beloved? Each of us has a secret desire for some deed or another, and confessing such wishes to one’s lover is like sharing other secrets, in that the admission can only tighten the bonds between you.
Let us consider the matter of bonds that tie, for it is common to enjoy helplessness in the moment of pleasure. Restraint may increase desire or amplify the vigor of one’s release. It is imperative that the details be reviewed in advance – what restraint is preferred and how inescapable the bonds should be, for example. Some prefer to be able to free themselves – making it their choice to remain bound, and thus an act of complicity – while others prefer any captivity to be hopeless. What materials should be used? Some prefer the rough texture of rope, others the smoothness of leather harness, still others the softness of silken ribbons.
There are no incorrect choices: only personal preferences, which should be indulged completely to ensure satisfaction. Does your partner like to be silenced? How securely and with what? Does he or she wish to be punished? A mock beating can be stimulating to both giver and recipient, provided that the right implement, location and duration have been decided in advance. Finding satisfaction in such pursuits is highly personal, and should always be an attempt to ensure the pleasure of both participants. Similarly, a blindfold can heighten the reaction of other senses, but can be stifling to some.
Does your partner have interest in more complicated liaisons? Many a gentleman has a fondness for finding two ladies desirous of his attention, but I wager there are men unaware of how many ladies are curious about having two or more men attending their whims. I knew a lady who kept a standing appointment with no less than three robust men twice weekly for years, and declared that she would never deny herself the delights of so many hands and tongues ever again.
To each, his or her own fantasy.
To each lover, I wish an urge to fulfill a partner’s secret desire.
As in all matters intimate, discussion in advance is the wisest choice. You may fear that planning the interval will steal its power, but in truth, such wicked games awaken our fears, and the predictability can allay concern. By no means should either partner ever be imperiled, for these are games to be enjoyed by both.
Below are illustrated instructions for the binding of a knot that holds fast but can be readily released.
Some adventurous lovers contrive a signal by which the captive can communicate that the game has gone too far: experiences such as these provoke strong responses in us and such games may, on occasion, become too much to bear. There should be no shame in calling a halt to any festivities: instead, consider it an opportunity to review and discuss, to contrive a better plan for the next encounter. Such encounters may not be a spice you wish to savor often, or they might become your preference.
I encourage you to listen and to experiment, rather than to dismiss any option in advance. I have found that even a suggestion that poses little interest to me can have a profound fascination when it thrills my partner to new heights of amorous pleasure. You may find that there is merit in alternating who shall name the game of choice. I have known lovers who drew lots, ensuring that there was uncertainty in who should choose. I have known others who defined a schedule in advance and found satisfaction in that. There are no rules, save that of mutual satisfaction...
He lowered the sheet and stared at her, aghast. It was a hundred times worse than he had imagined it might be – and worse, he found it…stirring.
“God in Heaven, Esmeralda. What is this?”
And what was she doing to him?
Of all the men in all the world who might be shocked by a discussion of intimate matters, Esmeralda had never expected the duke might be in their company. She knew he objected to the idea of her book, but she had attributed that to his affection for convention. She had been certain that if he actually read any of it, he would be delighted. She thought he would be enthralled or amused. Enraptured perhaps. Aroused.
She did not expect him to be shocked or appalled.
And here was the evidence she had neither expected nor desired, that her views of men had been right all along and that there could be no merit in placing oneself under the command of any of them.
Even now, with a mere night of intimacy between them, the duke strove to silence her.
How dare he?
Esmeralda did not care what debt was left unpaid with him. She would not allow him to halt the writing or the publication of her book.
He watched her, so clearly awaiting an explanation that it was all simply a jest – or perhaps her acquiescence to his terms – that she did not know whether to laugh or cry. How had he convinced her of his supposed merit so quickly? How could she have been so mistaken about him?
He was the same as all of the wretched creatures.
“It is intimate advice for ladies.” Esmeralda’s lips set stubbornly.
He shook the paper at her. “But you cannot suggest such frolic as this!”
Oh, that he should feign ignorance was too much! “Why should I not? I recall your regular attendance at the Hellfire Club all those years ago, for I could be found there as well. This frolic is mild compared to the games played there.”
“Ladies did not participate.”
“I did. Why should sauce for the goose not be sauce for the gander?”
“Because it is inappropriate!” he roared.
Esmeralda’s fury chilled to the cold resolve of steel and she could not have fallen silent to save her very life.