A while ago, he’d felt akin to standing on the precipitous edge of a waterfall, but now he was fairly certain he was tumbling, falling within its boundless power to the abyss below and–
“Drink up, my lord,” called Thos. “All done and ’tis the Quart Pot Inn next.”
Ernest stared at his almost full tankard.
He was beginning to wish he was lying beside Hebe, who he hoped to be sweetly asleep at this very moment, slender hands tucked behind her ear, curls strewn about her pillow, lips curving with the flow of innocent dreams…
21
A TASTE OF HEAVEN…
MEANWHILE…
Aunt turned the page…“‘Miss Hortensia Fortescue moaned in sweet melodious transport as the ever so wicked Duke of Bigley besieged her quivering body with his mighty–’”
“Aunt?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Is this…”
“Hmm?” Hazel eyes twinkled above the book, a brandy glass brushing her aunt’s lips as she reclined against the far bed post with a cushion to her back, Twinkle snoozing at her feet.
“I thought we were to readAn Innocent Bride for the Incorruptible Duke, the tale of the innocent maiden who dances with the innocent duke and retains her innocence?”
In truth, this tale of Aunt’s had begun innocent enough with a house party in the country, but poor Miss Hortensia Fortescue had been disrobed by page four and thoroughly besieged by page six.
“Hmm. That sounded a bit dull.” Aunt peered to the spine of her reading material. “This one is entitledThe Diabolical Duke Surmounts the Delicate Debutante. I came across it in the second library within a locked cabinet.”
“Locked?”
“I have my ways.”
Hebe plumped her pillow and clutched her brandy. “Well, if you must…”
“As you wish, dear.‘The dishonourable duke’s roving fingers of fire skimmed her milky-white bosom and Hortensia’s heart palpitated with euphoric exultant ecstasy as violent animation nigh thwarted her respiration. “Oh! I am overcome, Your Grace! Pray do not spare me!” cried Hortensia at the throbbing strokes of the demonic Duke of Bigley’s mighty anvil–’”
“Anvil?” queried Hebe. “Are we at the blacksmiths?”
“Purple prose, dear. You know what these writers are like. Do as they please.” Aunt took another gulp. “Where was I? Ah…‘The chaise rattled; the curtains writhed–’”
“Curtains don’t writhe.”
“Shush.‘And Hortensia fell into extremes of agitation as the fiendish Duke of Bigley’s wand of wickedness vanquished her shuddering frame with undying vigour. “Oh!” Hortensia cried. “Desist…not!” And she seized the duke’s–
A knock thundered the library door and it crashed open to display the dastardly and depraved Earl of Largeacre in all his upright nakedness…’”
Hebe blinked.
Aunt turned the page. “I’m a little concerned where this is going, dear…”
Hortensia Fortescue was no doubt similarly concerned. Hebe sniggered.
“This may be too salacious for you. I’ll just read on to check.”
As Aunt flipped the pages, wide-eyed and tutting, Hebe fell back against the pillows feeling one or two extremes of agitation herself.
Never, not once, had she looked to a gentleman and wondered how his naked torso would feel beneath her palms, had never speculated whether his fingertips would be tender or urgent as they caressed her skin.
