…then what? There would be a scandal? She would be ruined? No one would marry her?
Despite herself, Rose giggled at this instinctive fear. How funny to still be frightened of such things now. She had almost been ruined by scandal already, and was now a married woman in her own husband’s library. In fact, she had a perfect right to look at these books if she wanted. She was mistress of this house, after all.
Cautiously, Rose returned her eyes to the pictures and scanned the accompanying text. The doughty French Captain Henri did indeed appear to have a wife in every port where his ship called. Blonde, brunette, black and red-haired; short and tall; curvaceous and slim; with every skin tone and eye color. Every one of these women appeared equally overjoyed when Captain Henri’s boat docked.
“Oh my!” she exclaimed as she turned the page to continue reading of his exploits with his handsome Spanish wife Lucia, described as“a fiery and impatient lover.”
On the paper before Rose’s eyes, Lucia stood bent over a kitchen table with her skirts hoisted to her waist, while Captain Henri stood behind her, trousers at his ankles and a purple-headed shaft protruding from his groin.
“‘I cannot wait, Henri. It has been too long. You must give it to me right now,’ panted Lucia eagerly,” she read.
What on earth was going on? Lucia’s face certainly was drawn to look eager and impatient, while Henri’s was grinning broadly as he laid his hands…actually on the woman’s naked buttocks! What did the Spanish woman want? What was Henri going to do? What was that thing protruding from his body? Despite the cold of the day, Rose felt hot and restless reading the story.
“Captain Henri thrust his manly shaft into her welcoming depths, much to Lucia’s delight…”
This next sentence sent a sharp thrill through Rose’s body although its literal meaning eluded her and there was no illustration on this page to explain it. She glanced back to the bookshelves, wondering if all the books here were of this nature and deciding they probably were.
Flicking briefly through the present book, she gathered that all the illustrations were similar: Captain Henri with a range of half-naked women eager to embrace him in different positions, some even spreading their legs to expose their most intimate portions. That peculiar shaft appeared in most of them too, although sometimes it appeared to have vanished when he lay upon the women.
As she grew more accustomed to the salacious material, Rose decided that Captain Henri himself was not so very attractive, with his blond hair, whiskers and uniform. The Duke of Ravenhill was far more handsome… She closed the book and returned it to the shelf before selectingLessons in Love from the Venetian Contessa.
Everyone kept telling Rose that she still needed to learn, and the title implied some kind of educational content. Perhaps this book would finally tell her what she needed to know. Opening it, Rose found the story of Lord Basington, a young Englishman on his grand tour of Europe.
It was written in the first person in an open and confessional style, with Lord Basington admitting in the introduction that “until I met Contessa Teresa Barbarigo, I was as innocent of the world and its lusts as any young maiden,” and noting furtherthat “at the age of one-and-twenty, this was no longer a virtue but a condition urgently requiring remediation…”.
Rose felt immediate kinship with Lord Basington and an interest in his story as well as the same physical response that the story of Captain Henri had aroused in her. Out of curiosity, she flicked ahead to the first illustrations and paused there. The hero of the story had dark hair and a clean shaven face which pleased her far better than the blond and bearded naval officer.
By the third picture plate, where a bare-breasted Venetian countess was undressing the young man, it also became clear that Lord Basington possessed the same strange shaft at his groin as Captain Henri. Did all men have this feature? If so, why did it not show through their clothing? Or was this only some literary metaphor or joke that Rose didn’t understand?
With a sense of daring, Rose touched the picture with her fingertips. The young man on the page was darkly handsome and well-built with broad shoulders, narrow hips and sturdy thighs. Did Dorian Voss look like this when undressed, she wondered? Her own curiosity on this subject shocked her.
“Have you found something you like?” asked a deep and resonant voice, making Rose physically jump in surprise and slam the book closed.
She blushed guiltily, feeling as though allowing herself such an indecent thought about her new husband had actually summoned him.
“I was hoping to find some of Duchess Juliana’s poetry but I couldn’t,” Rose told him quickly, putting the book behind her back and hoping she could set it back on the shelf and escape before he realized what it was.
How embarrassing if the duke were to see what she had been reading! Already blushing under his gaze, her cheeks began to feel as though they were on fire.
“I don’t suppose you would, in this particular section of the library,” he remarked and Rose saw amusement dancing once again at the corners of his mouth. “Let me see what you did find.”
“No, it is nothing. Really, it is too silly…”
He reached out his hand and Rose skipped away to the side as she tried to excuse herself, only making him laugh.
“Dear me, you look a little hot and bothered, Rose. Is it really that bad? I cannot imagine it will shock me. Come now, let us look at your book together.”
“Dorian!” Rose exclaimed as the Duke of Ravenhill lightly swept her off her feet and brought her onto his lap on the green leather armchair.
There she wriggled helplessly for a moment between his strong arms, her own hands instinctively rising in defense and producing the book before the duke’s eyes.
“Lessons in Love from the Venetian Contessa,”he read aloud with a raised eyebrow and a smile. “Did you like it, Rose? You need hide nothing from me. I consider this library yours now, as much as mine, and I am the last man alive to judge you for wishing to read an erotic story.”
Dorian’s breath was warm on Rose’s face and the scent of his skin was heady in her nostrils, overlaid with his usual woody cologne. Inhaling it seemed to inflame her cheeks and her heart further but there was presently no physical escape. If he wished to hold her there, he could. She had to admit that the warmth and strength of his body were not unpleasant.
Pressed so closely to him, Rose could even feel the rumble in his chest as he spoke. His voice was teasing but not unkind and she supposed that he spoke the truth. Books such as these were likely nothing to a man like Dorian Voss. It occurred to her that there was likely nothing in any of them that he had not done himself.
“I did not know what kind of books they were until I opened one,” Rose told him. “I was shocked at first. I have never seen anything like this before.”
