Page 24 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

He growled, a guttural, feral sound that was swiftly muffled as Madam Arabella took him captive between her thighs. By instinct alone, Edmund nuzzled her soaked pussy until he found her clitoris and then, closing his mouth over it, began to suck. Soon he existed in a hazy, dreamy world of pain-tinged bliss, Madam Arabella’s tight grip on him and the dildo ruthlessly fucking his arse the only things stopping him from floating away.

Moments later, Madam Arabella bucked on the bed, her orgasmic scream echoing around the diamond chamber. But Edmund barely had a moment to gulp in air when her thighs fell away from him, as Nev wrapped his oil-slick hand around Edmund’s swollen cock and rubbed with ruthless precision. Pleasure hit him like a storm surge and a low roar tore from his throat as he came, his seed gushing and gushing like it might never stop.

Exhausted, barely conscious, Edmund began to shake. After the dildo was removed he was pulled into a caring embrace, his head settling neatly onto luscious breasts and his hair tenderly stroked. Equally good, a warm body surrounded him from behind, pressing soft kisses to his neck and shoulders. And they were complimenting him. Praising his efforts. His obedience. His courage.

Ah. So this was what it felt like to see angels.

CHAPTER 6

For an entire week Arabella had kept herself relentlessly busy each day: hours on her precious ledgers, settling accounts, deciding menus and recipes with the housekeeper, approving purchases, visiting family, and overseeing the delivery of supplies to three parish schools Nev supported.

Anything to distract her from two clear facts: she had completely abandoned her longstanding unbreakable rules around playfellows…and was enjoying some of the best sexual experiences of her life. Now, she and Nev had spent four exquisite nights with Edmund at Sanctuary, teaching and pleasuring and disciplining him, because rather than sating her appetite for the duke, each occasion only whetted it further.

Which was bloody terrifying.

Many men claimed to be submissive, but there always came a time when they wished to take control and center their own pleasure. Whether through certain words, a slowness to obey, or a bitter petulance when she wouldn’t reverse roles, she could easily spot a charlatan. Edmund, however, had leaped into sexual submission as though born for it. It continued to be an honor to initiate him with Nev’s assistance, and knowing that under that icy, proper ducal shell was such a vulnerable, sweet soul was the cherry on top of the syllabub.

But she and Nev were a whole pair, not two thirds searching for that missing piece.

Weren’t they?

Arabella stalked down the narrow hallway, the click-clack of her heels hurting even her ears. Most days she could tolerate the small townhouse, even the lack of a garden. But today it was a prison. And she couldn’t even discuss it with Nev, for he was giving a speech on abolishing plantation slavery at a merchant’s gathering organized by her father at Ferndale Shipping. That would certainly be contentious; a lot of men and a great many aristocrats made huge sums from the revolting practice that continued in the island colonies. She would have loved to witness him speak—Nev’s passion for reform was truly inspiring. But even her indulgent father had banned her from attending, saying it was strictly gentlemen only. Bah.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” she muttered.

“Beg pardon, my lady?”

Arabella glanced up to see their endlessly patient and dignified butler, Oakley, who was standing in an alcove studiously polishing silver plate. To the man’s great credit, he had never even twitched an eyebrow at taking all instructions from the baroness rather than the baron. “I am planning an escape, Oakley.”

“Do you require weapons, madam? An alibi? Or just the town carriage?” asked the butler.

She grinned. “Just the town carriage. If his lordship returns early, tell him I’ve gone to call on the Countess of Whitmore.”

Oakley bowed. “Very good, my lady.”

In no time at all, Arabella’s carriage was approaching Grosvenor Square. The other residents could squeal all they wanted, but only Katherine could assist with this particular delicate issue.

As soon as they pulled up in front of the sprawling Whitmore townhouse, Arabella near-tumbled out of the carriage, not even waiting for a footman to lower the step. Then she marched up to the front door and rapped the brass knocker.

The door opened to reveal the butler, Kenney.

“Yes?” he began, before offering a warm smile. “Oh, good morning, Lady Carlisle! How may I assist?”

Arabella inclined her head. “Good morning, Kenney. Is Lady Whitmore at home to callers?”

“Do come in, madam. I shall go and enquire.”

While she waited, Arabella glanced around enviously. This townhouse always felt so damned cozy because of Gerard Hunter’s impeccable taste. Although in fairness, while she admired the way he put together carpets and drapes and furniture and paintings to create a home, he had so much space to work with. After her father’s vast Blackfriars estate, moving to the cramped baronial townhouse in Golden Square had required a stark mind adjustment; scarcely a day went by when she didn’t curse the narrow stairs, small rooms, and thin walls. Unfortunately, Nev was reluctant to leave his childhood home.

“Lady Carlisle, please follow me to the parlor,” said Kenney as he returned. “Lady Whitmore will be down presently. She is just getting her hair trimmed.”

Arabella hesitated. “I could return another day.”

The butler shook his head. “Madam, her direct words were ‘do not move one inch from the parlor’. I believe her ladyship is, er, very eager to take tea with you.”

In minutes, Arabella was perched on a comfortable chaise, a full tea tray in front of her. The Whitmore’s cook had generously provided heavy fruitcake and sugar-dusted cinnamon wafers, and she was unable to resist the lure of two wafers. Not long after that, Katherine dashed in, her pale blue gown swirling about her ankles.

“Aha!” said the blond countess as she slumped onto the chaise opposite and poured herself a cup of tea. “My cunning wafer trap was successful. They have a secret ingredient that compels a body to confess all.”