One more glance. That’s all I allow myself of Blackport’s tortured expression. He stands before me, his chest heaving as he glares down into my very soul. A gulf opens between us, driving us even further apart. But then, were we ever really more than just mere acquaintances?
A blush races up my neck as my bottom hole throbs from his mistreatment. Surely, we can be considered at least friends with the familiar way in which he stroked my body. Titillation gives way to shame as more of that blasted liquid gathers at the apex of my thighs.
I shouldn’t have liked it, but I did. Even now, my soul cries out for more. More heat, more pain, more of his roughness. If I close my eyes, I can conjure up the sensations he brought about in me, such delicious agony which threatens to rip me open and have me spilling all over his Hessian boots.
Unable to help myself, I reach out, just to touch him once more, to reassure myself he’s not a figment of an overactive, fever-ladened mind. But the moment I do, he jerks away, leaving me alone, cold, and utterly humiliated. I suppose it’s for the best.
Though I understand his reluctance, this rejection still stings. The pain blossoms in my chest as I stay my hand, refusing to reach out and touch him again, to force him to accept my caress. I must make myself leave before I do something I’ll regret.
Heat blazes my cheeks as I stumble through the opening and into the cool, dank hallway. Every inch of my body trembles as I pick my way through, trusting the light spilling out from the room to guide me. The flames dance along the walls, flooding them with shadows, and for a moment, I worry the duke is back behind me.
But he isn’t. All of this is just my imagination running rampant. If he were, it would be his intoxicating scent of pine and honeysuckle gathering around me instead of the moldy gloom threatening to pull me under.
Pausing as I reach the top of the stairs, I look back down the dark expanse, watching as the twinkling lights from the firelight extinguish as he closes the door. My heart clutches painfully in my chest as I slide down the wall and onto the floor. I will be filthy by the time I get back to my room, but I don’t care. What difference is a little soiling when my heart and body scream out for the delicious unknown?
Such matters seem trivial, paltry even, compared to the agony lancing through my heart. A guttural moan rips from my lips as I finally give into the pain fluttering through my chest like wasps pricking me with every breath. Though I hope no one can hear it, I just can’t bring myself to fully care.
The darkness encroaches as I sit there, rocking back and forth as I try to process everything, condensing it into a pretty package I can digest and pick through. What I need is a moment to breathe and figure out what exactly is going on.
So many conflicting emotions swirl through my brain, muddying my thoughts until I cannot find the path out. There was a moment there between us. I know it as intimately as I know my right hand.
I let him do things to me. Things which would cast me out of society as a pariah. I could have said no, fought him harder, but I didn’t. I am just as guilty as he, a co-conspirator in this deviant game.
And yet, he pulled away.
Well, more than pulled away… Pain erupts in my heart, not physical, yet strong enough to make me almost crumple forward until my head touches my knees. None of this makes sense. The words he said, the things he made me feel…
None of this makes any sense.
My body betrays me as I sit there, my mind whirling about. Of course, he’d spurn me. He is a duke, after all. And I’m just… I’m just a lowly governess no one really cares about. Despite knowing this, I find I crave him even more.
All I want is to be back in his arms. I don’t care how much he makes it hurt. Just having him touch me makes the noise in my head stop. With him, I feel as if I’m finally breathing for the first time. It’s so cruel to have him tear those sensations away without another thought.
Tears slide down my cheeks as I clutch my midsection. This morning’s breakfast lies heavy in my gut as I tip to my side and curl in on myself. I should be in my bed and not lying here on a dirty floor.
But, for some reason, this feels fitting. As wonderful as he made me feel, I also feel sullied and used. Though he spoke highly of not ridding me of my innocence, I fear he’s already done just that. He’s already taken liberties which no one else has been allowed, but instead of repulsing me, I want him to do even more.
It would be so easy to expose him in front of his family, forcing his hand to marry me and give me everything he promises yet doesn’t do. But then my mother would win, and I would lose. I don’t want the duke like that.
I want love, unrequited, the type that seems to only appear in books. Perhaps I’m foolish to entertain these romantic notions, but it’s what I’ve wanted since I’ve understood the word. Love is what’s absent from my life, and to get it by force the way my mother urges, feels wrong.
The very thought of trapping him makes me feel even more grimy and tainted. With a pitiful groan, I force myself up and continue on to my bedchamber. Besides, I’ve been gone long enough that others might worry.
As I enter the room, I blink about, the bright light assaulting my eyes. It doesn’t appear that anyone else has been in here. That’s a relief at least. Hurrying out of my clothes, I slip beneath the covers and turn onto my side.
Now, if anyone comes in, I won’t have to pretend as if I’m ill. Every inch hurts as I force myself not to cry. Sure enough, after only a handful of minutes, a soft knock at my door rouses me.
A maid steps in, her brows pulled down in concern. “Are you still ill, Miss?”
“I feel wretched,” I manage to croak.
“The physician is here to see Her Grace. I can have him check in on you when he is done?”
At this point, I must give credence to the lie I’ve already set in motion. Turning to the other side, I give her a pitiful nod, hoping to convey my misery in my gaze. With a slight bob, she disappears, leaving me in the room again. I curl in on myself, letting the errant tears loose.
I don’t dare do this in front of Blackport. Knowing him, such weakness would not be tolerated. In truth, I have no earthly idea why this vexes me so. If only I could eject him from my mind and body. But I’m afraid I’m already branded by his touch.
Minutes go by like hours as I await the doctor, further guilt compounding on the sludge oozing through my veins. He should be here to attend the dowager duchess and not give one thought to my imagined ailments. The longer I lay here, however, the more my head pounds and my stomach twists until I’m sure to be a perfect patient when he makes his appearance.
The soft knock at the door sets my hackles on edge as I pull the covers further up my body. Will he be able to see through this ruse? I contemplate sending them away, but the door opens before I can say a word.
The doctor, a portly, friendly sort of beta, ambles into the room, followed by the dowager duchess. She leans heavily on a cane as she shuffles inside, her eyes wide with concern. She quivers with every step she takes, pausing to cough into a handkerchief every so often.
The doctor turns to her, his brows furrowing as he watches the true patient. Though an odd look passes between them, neither says a word in chastisement to her being out of bed. But then, could a doctor order about one such as she?
She hobbles over to the bed and sits down, her gaze soft and concerned as she runs her hand over my arm. Leaning forward, she takes in a quick breath, her eyes narrowing as she takes in my pitiful state. Does she smell Blackport on me? Is the game up before it’s even started?
“I came as soon as I was made aware you were ill,” she mutters, her gaze turning back to that warm, caring expression I’m used to seeing on her. “It seems as if the servants in this house wish to not ‘worry’ me needlessly, but while you’re under my roof, I am in charge of your care. Goodness knows I cannot leave such a task up to my Robert. He wouldn’t know care if it came up and bit him on the rear end.”
Beside her, the doctor coughs and smothers a smile, but I don’t dare react to what she’s saying. However, Her Grace gives me a conspiratorial smile, setting my nerves at ease.
“Please, Your Grace,” I murmur, doing my utmost to keep my tone neutral. “I’m sure Blackport is a perfectly affable man given the right circumstances.” Fire heats my cheeks as I defend the duke who so rudely shoved me away after dangling the promise of pleasure in my face.
If she sees my reaction, she makes no comment. With a soft groan, she heaves herself off of the bed and mills about as the doctor takes her place. With a kind smile, he puts his bag next to me and pulls out an odd device.
Bits go into his ears and the other he rests upon my chest. Closing my eyes, I let myself drift, wishing it was Blackport listening to the rapid staccato of my heart instead of the prim and proper doctor. Taking in a deep breath, I do my best to quell those errant thoughts, not wishing to give anything away as he examines me.
The questions are not as invasive as I feared, but the dowager duchess watches on, latching onto every word coming from my mouth. Does she know? Can she tell that I’ve been having illicit meetings with her son?
Leaning heavily on her cane, she spears me with a knowing look. “I have it on good authority that you and my son had a bit of a row before you took to your bed. Did he frighten you?”
“N- no, Your Grace,” I cry out, attempting to sit up before the doctor pushes me back down.
“What exactly are your thoughts about my son, Miss Gillet?”
It’s worse than I feared. Now, instead of worrying over our clandestine meeting, I’m concerned she’s ferreted out my secret. Has someone tipped her off to my mother’s wishes?
Her face softens as she gives me another motherly smile. “You needn’t fear retribution. I know he was forcible with you, and I intend to make sure you were not harmed by his pig-headed ways.”
“His Grace acted only in reaction to my actions. I have since apologized for my wayward tongue. To my knowledge, the matter is settled.”
“Yes. That is all well and good,” she replies in earnest. “But what do you think of him?”
The words I wish to say are not ones I can reveal to her. Instead, I lower my lashes, appearing as respectful as I can. “You have raised a fine duke, Your Grace. He is a formidable asset to the Dowding name.”
An odd expression flits over her face but is gone before I can understand its meaning. The loud harrumph startles me, drawing a chuckle from her lips. “Very diplomatic answer, my dear Miss Gillet. You do know your way around words.” Turning to the doctor, she prods him with the end of her cane. “Well, will our patient live?”
“I do believe she will see at least another sunrise.” Chuckling, he pulls out a bottle from his bag. “It is my suggestion she lay abed for the rest of the day and given a touch of laudanum along with some warmed chocolate. If she does not improve by the morrow, I will find something else to ease her ailments.”
With a congenial smile, he pats my arm and bows to the dowager duchess. “As for you, Your Grace, I do believe a bed will not go amiss. You have ambled about far too much for one in your condition.” Giving me a curt nod, he hands the small jar over to the maid and assists the dowager duchess out of the room.
Soon, I’m back alone with my thoughts, but this time, they’re far more consumed with concern for Blackport’s mother than for my supposed illness. It doesn’t take a physician to know what’s really wrong with me. I’m heartsick, and unfortunately, there is no cure.
Though I have not had much experience with laudanum, I know of its lethargic properties. Perhaps this will give me the reprieve I so desperately need. Taking the laced chocolate in my hands, I sip it, doing my best not to grimace at the bitter taste filling my mouth like a rotten film coating the palate.
The maid takes my cup and draws the curtains, dousing the room in darkness. Only the lamplight flickers, chasing away the shadows threatening to overwhelm me. My eyelids grow heavy as the drug takes effect, distorting the images cast upon the walls.
They feel both sinister and familiar all at the same time. I want nothing more than to dip into the darkness and allow it to wash over me, drowning me in nothing. Finally, my eyes close as blessed sleep overtakes me.
Pain lashes through my body, bowing me up. Unadulterated heat suffocates me, robbing me of my breath. I try to push against the bulk pinning me down, but I find I cannot move.
Terror infuses my limbs, causing me to quake. I cannot see. I cannot breathe. I cannot think. All I can do is feel. Warmth sizzles across my synapses as pleasure blossoms through my body.
Sounds drip from my lips in undulating cadences I’ve never heard before. It’s somewhere between a cry and a moan. All it does is fuel the heat racing through my system until I fear I’ll turn to ash.
Groaning, I turn my head to the side, desperate to see the cause of this delicious torment. Once I pry my eyes open, everything stops. I freeze, unable to fully comprehend what I’m seeing.
Somehow, I’m back in the punishment room, only now the fire engulfs the entire space. Flames lick up toward the ceiling, creating a canopy of embers. It would be beautiful if not so terrifying.
I long to scream out, to beg for help, but no sounds come out that aren’t laced with longing and need. Unseen hands rake across my skin, leaving fiery trails in their wake. If only it were Blackport touching me, igniting me with his ardor.
Even in the throes of imminent death, I seek him out, desperate for the illicit touch only he can provide. Again, I look about, desperate to see his face. There, in the midst of the fire, a shadow walks forward.
His breadth and width appear to be Blackport, but no face is visible. I drag air into my lungs, desperate to smell that intoxicating mix of pine and honeysuckle. Instead, an odd char burns the back of my throat.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I twist about, desperate to find relief. But the shadow man gives me none. Instead, he looms over me, his eyes two glowing orbs, the only light in his sea of darkness. He slides his hand down my abdomen, pausing as he reaches the juncture of my thighs.
I want to cry out, to beg him to put an end to this torment. As if he can hear my thoughts, he touches that part of me which has ached since the moment Blackport nearly ran me over with his horse. This time, the tears streaming down are of relief as pleasure washes over me, building with each stroke.
Whispers flood my ears, all of them nonsensical as I writhe beneath the touch of this demon. I should be horrified, ashamed even, but in this liminal space between life and death, I find I cannot bring myself to care. My head plops back against the pillow as I let this thing touch me, wringing out every bit of pleasure he can.
It builds, twisting and coiling within me until I near some precipice, some distant plane I’ve never known before. The whispers become louder, beckoning me, urging me to let go. The voice sounds strangely familiar—a deep, guttural, masculine voice demanding me to stop fighting and just give in.
On a loud cry, everything explodes, splintering into a thousand shards. The pleasure races through, twisting me about until all I can do is sob as it ripples through me. Sagging back against the bed, I struggle to open my eyes back up.
They’re heavy and unwilling to cooperate. Again, darkness swamps me, lulling me to sink beneath the waves. I float on some strange cloud, drifting about as if being carried. Yet another novel sensation.
Beneath the fog of sleep, an odd vibration ripples over my skin. It calls to me, demanding my body become limp and boneless under the onslaught. As if I care enough to fight the pull.
“Good girl,” the whispers cajole into my ear as heat gives way to blessed coolness.