Page 44 of A Tale of Two Dukes

Instead, I applied myself to my submission, becoming the dutiful mistress, taking whatever he deemed me worthy to receive. In the moments our bodies collided, nothing else existed, but when our release was done, our bodies bound by his knot, there was silence.

Though I longed to throw myself in his arms, I had to be strong. This time, it’s not just for my family, but for him as well. I have no idea what Mr. Beaumont is planning, but just in case, I don’t want to learn anything that might be helpful to his nefarious plots.

And so, just like every other day, I busy myself with reading, art, basically anything that keeps my mind occupied and my body in the house. When Birchleigh comes in the evening, I distract myself by receiving as much of his painful pleasure as I can and giving him all of me in return.

Nearing the end of the stairs, I pause, hearing two sets of voices. One is clearly the duke; however, I’ve never heard the other one before. I have no face, no memory that can conjure up who it is. Creeping over to Birchleigh’s study, the low grumbles become clearer, allowing me to make out the words.

“What is it you want?” Birchleigh growls, his tone frustrated and strident.

“What I want, brother,” the stranger bites back, “is for you to not neglect your duty because you find yourself bewitched by a set of breasts and a pussy.”

My heart stills at their exchange. They’re arguing about me? But why? What have I done? Guilt gnaws at my insides. It’s evident what I’ve done. By being untruthful, I’ve caused yet another rift.

“You will watch your tone when you speak of my mistress. Come, you act as if it’s unseemly for me to carry on so. Would you prefer I release her and court my chances at The Rose and Thorne? In truth, I thought you’d be delighted to see me settle down.”

“Settle down,” he barks out. “Is that what you call this? You have no future with her. What, you think to marry this woman, elevate her from whore to duchess?”

At his words, my heart seizes for a moment. How often have I longed for that to be true? I crane forward, desperate to hear the duke’s answer. But none ever comes. Instead, a sigh filters through the air, heavy, just like my heart.

“No,” Birchleigh eventually replies. “I am not delusional enough to think to marry the girl. But that doesn’t allow you to malign her in this way.”

At the first part of his words, my heart sinks. It’s what I get for allowing myself to dream in such a way. However, hearing him defend me soothes the wound a touch.

“In what way? Come now, what have I said that is so demeaning? Is she not a harlot? Is she not your mistress? A mere piece of flesh to occupy yourself until you find a wife?”

In the silence, his words sting, burrowing deep into my heart. Everything this stranger is saying is correct, and I cannot refute any of the harsh utterances that flit from the open door. Tears dot my eyes as my fingers claw at my dress.

If only it were Birchleigh I was arranged to marry. This Birchleigh and not the traitor. Things would be so different if he saw me as the daughter of an earl I was and not this soiled dove I’ve become.

“You have no right to speak of her as such. She is a good, kind woman. Who cares how she came to be at The Rose and Thorne. She was an innocent when I took her.”

“Or so she’d lead you to believe.”

“No, Robert. I saw the blood on my cock. I felt the tremor that raced through her body when I took her maidenhead. She was innocent. And I took that from her.”

“If not you, then someone else. Just because you got there first doesn’t make you or her special. You are a duke, dammit. A man with responsibility. When will you wake up and understand that? Or can you not extricate yourself from between her thighs long enough to scent fresh air? No doubt it’s her arousal that makes you so lightheaded.”

Again, I lean forward, desperate to hear my master’s response. However, I must have miscalculated. Instead of merely leaning against a statue near the door, I put enough pressure on it for it to rock back and forth.

I reach out, holding onto it in desperation. Luckily, it’s a small bust, so it doesn’t topple over, but I can no longer keep my presence a secret. At the sound of marble scraping against marble, both men stride out of the room, their features twin masks of displeasure.

Once Birchleigh realizes it’s me, his lips split into a grin. “Why, if it isn’t a little kitten prowling about. Looking for some cream?”

Heat infuses my face as I glance up at his brother. He glares down at me, stern, commanding, and arrogant, seemingly everything opposite of Birchleigh in every way. Demeanor aside, the two couldn’t be more opposite, including appearance. It’s as if the two share different parentage altogether.

“I- Uh.”

“What’s the matter, love? Cat got your tongue?” The way his purred words wash over me sends arousal thrumming through my veins.

His brother sneers as he scents the air, no doubt smelling the effect my master has on me. Embarrassment continues to heat up my cheeks until they’re blazing. “Please, Your Grace. We have company.”

“Only my brother. Allow me to introduce to you Robert Dowding, Duke of Blackport. He may seem like a right bastard, but he means well.”

At his words, Blackport adjusts his cravat, his lips curling in displeasure. “Don’t put up a fuss on my account,” he barks out. “By all means, fuck her on the stairs if you like. Introduce me to that magical cunt of hers.”

At his crass words, my mouth drops open. Seeing as I was a proper lady until a few weeks ago, I’m still not accustomed to such language. It wounds me, reminding me of my new place.

It’s devastating, but not nearly as agonizing as Birchleigh’s possessive touch as he reaches for me. His hand is a balm, but still a little too late. The damage is already done.