Page 18 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

After making their way to the trestle tables near-groaning with bottles and glasses, a footman poured brandy for Neville and champagne for Arabella. Then they moved across to one of the ballroom pillars, an excellent central point to study the crush of people.

Abruptly, Neville leaned down. “Lady Cressida Vane just came out of the powder room. She only attends gatherings where her father is present or she’s chaperoned by the mother of a friend. No grandmothers, and I don’t think she is close with her aunt. So it is certainly possible that Stanforth is here.”

Arabella took a sip of champagne, her stomach twisting in anticipation as she gazed about the ballroom, hoping to see the duke’s tall, broad-shouldered figure. After several minutes of fruitless searching her spirits drooped…until a small group parted and the man himself marched through, seemingly toward the refreshment area.

“Go and occupy yourself, my darling,” she muttered to Neville, gulping her remaining champagne and setting the empty glass on a passing footman’s tray. “Our mission to rescue Stanforth from himself is about to begin.”

“Godspeed,” said Nev before disappearing into the crowd.

Arabella smoothed her gown, then strolled back toward the refreshment area. While Stanforth looked resplendent in his black jacket, muted silver waistcoat, elaborate cravat and old-fashioned gray breeches, she would always prefer him in a short green satin tunic. No, completely naked and on his knees.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” she said huskily.

The duke froze, a vast swathe of emotions crossing his face. Fear. Defeat. Faint hope. Then he rallied and glared at her, his expression colder than a Siberian winter. “Lady Carlisle. Are you well? Your husband mentioned the other day that it was your tenth anniversary. Congratulations.”

Arabella almost shivered at his frigid tone. This was the utterly unapproachable and exceedingly lofty Duke of Stanforth the world knew, the absolute opposite of the man from Sanctuary. And yet he wasn’t immune to her, not at all. Despite his best efforts to be formal and remote, his gaze kept returning to her bosom and lingering. Like Nev, the duke was enraptured with her breasts, which were displayed to perfection in the low-cut, puff-sleeved ruby gown with tiny shimmering crystals at the bodice and hem. “Thank you, that is very kind. It sounds like the quartet are preparing to play a waltz. Would you care to dance?”

Stanforth shook his head. “I don’t usually partake.”

Arabella moved closer and rested her gloved hand on his sleeve, neatly trapping him. “Please. There is much to discuss, don’t you agree?”

Somehow, his gaze grew even chillier. “Very well, my lady.”

Wordlessly, he escorted her to the dance floor before taking her hand in his and settling his other hand at her waist, warm and sure. Once the music began, Stanforth finally deigned to look at her as they turned and stepped. “Your terms, madam?”

Arabella frowned. “Terms? Oh good heavens. You think this is about blackmail?”

“Isn’t it?” he bit out. “You and your husband have the power to absolutely ruin me.”

“We don’t want to ruin you,” she replied calmly. “We want to fuck you.”

The duke actually stumbled, and she swiftly exerted pressure on his shoulder to guide him further over toward the wall, far away from any listening ears.

“Beg pardon?” Stanforth choked out.

“Oh, you heard me well enough, Your Grace,” said Arabella. “And I wonder if even now that magnificent cock is stirring. Have you thought about that night? How I marked your arse? How you came so hard in my hands? How you sucked pineapple ice from my nipple? Do you remember how good my pussy tasted?”

“Yes,” he whispered at last.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Arabella ruthlessly as they continued to waltz.

Stanforth moaned softly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I understand how overwhelming it can be, discovering and exploring your true desires for the first time. However, it was very poor form to flee after such beautiful obedience. I’m afraid you’ll have to atone for that.”

The duke closed his eyes briefly but managed to keep dancing as the music commenced its final flourish. “Discipline?” he murmured.

Arabella nodded. “A stern spanking. Tomorrow, you’ll surrender yourself for punishment at the location of your choice. I can arrange Sanctuary membership if you wish. However, as before, there’ll be no masks in the room. And you will belong to me.”

“Yes,” said Stanforth, surprisingly firmly. “Eight o’clock? Would that suit?”

She smiled approvingly, subtly caressing his shoulder. “It would. Until then, Your Grace. Thank you for the dance.”

The duke bowed. After sinking into a curtsy, Arabella swept away, grander than an empress. She found Neville waiting impatiently beside the buffet table, nibbling at an apple tart.

“Well?” he asked, visibly swallowing.

“Stanforth’s atonement shall commence tomorrow night at eight. He requested Sanctuary,” Arabella replied airily.