Page 8 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

“An excellent idea,” said Carlisle. “You’re going to leave Sanctuary a new man, Charlie.”

All Edmund could do was nod as he followed the couple across the ballroom, through a set of double doors guarded by two burly footmen, and down a long, carpeted hallway. It actually resembled any wealthy home; plenty of beeswax candles to light the way, embossed paper on the walls, velvet drapes, a few Constable landscapes and even a bust of King George. Yet he couldn’t appreciate any of it. Not when his mind was spinning.

He was desperately curious about submission. The Carlisle marriage. Sexual discipline. Bedding purely for pleasure not procreation and speaking freely of desires. Yet while all that seemed a giant step forward in the quest to find his true self, one aspect still held him back: not wanting to wear a tunic, mask, and hair covering. Or be Charlie. He wanted this fantasy to be real. For Edmund to be experiencing this whole new world with Neville and Arabella, not Gage and Laurel.

When they finally reached the last door at the end of the hallway, a smiling maid bobbed a curtsy, then handed over a brass key to Arabella before quickly departing.

The baroness smiled as she unlocked the door and held it open. “The diamond chamber. Prepare to be impressed, Charlie.”

Her husband started to walk into the room, until Edmund blurted, “Wait.”

Both Carlisles froze.

“Yes?” said Arabella, her tone cautious.

How the hell did he say this without sounding like a madman? Or a milksop? Madam Venus had made it very plain that her club’s rules were sacrosanct, and here he was about to request the breaking of a key one: anonymity.

“I want this very much,” Edmund began carefully. “But—”

“It is completely understandable to feel anxious,” said Arabella, her gaze softening as she reached out and touched his arm. “We were a bundle of nerves our first time.”

“Absolutely,” added Carlisle. “I couldn’t even stand still. I was hopping from one foot to the other like a demented rabbit.”

“It’s not that,” said Edmund, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I want…I want to break a rule.”

Arabella’s eyes widened. “We’ll discuss inside,” she said firmly.

He gulped. It was now or never.

Stanforth, the first-night novice at Sanctuary, wanted to break a rule? In the presence of Madam Arabella?

The audacity.

Arabella pressed her lips together in annoyance as she guided the errant duke into the well-lit and pleasantly warm diamond chamber; around London’s largest bed made up with linen so soft it would be like gliding on water, past the huge, diamond-studded rectangular mirrors offering views from all angles, and away from the huge embroidered screen that divided off a corner of the room for bathing or ablutions.

Instead, she settled herself into a leather armchair beside the smoldering fireplace and gestured for Stanforth to stand before her so he might make his case. Neville curled up on the adjacent chaise like a lazy house cat, but his gaze was watchful.

“So,” she said crisply, trying not to notice how broad the duke’s shoulders were, how firm and muscled his thighs, the objective loveliness of his gold-flecked hazel eyes, or that he had the kind of slightly fuller bottom lip that urged a lady to bite it. “You wish to break a rule, Charlie? I will say, I am usually very much against this, but I am curious which rule you deem so unimportant. Do explain.”

The duke visibly swallowed, then endearingly tugged on the ends of his short green tunic like he was trying to cover more of his thighs, a rather futile exercise. “I know this goes against Sanctuary’s much-vaunted anonymity. I thought I could manage the false name and the mask and the hair covering, but as it turns out, no matter how far I run to escape myself, I cannot. I’m a forty-year-old man who has bedded one woman and gained no pleasure from it, for my marriage was a forced mismatch and very unhappy. I’ve never taken a mistress, for I didn’t want further bedchamber transactions. I feel like I’m standing on a clifftop with two excellent teachers, waiting to learn how to soar, but I can’t do that as Charlie. I want to be me. And you to be you.”

Nev snapped to attention on the chaise. “Then you know who we are,” he said thoughtfully.

“Yes,” said Stanforth quietly. “I guided Madam Venus with as much detail as I could, because I didn’t want to embark on this journey with complete strangers. But I think you also know who I am. So what I’m asking is…if tonight could be real. If you aren’t comfortable with my request, and that is completely understandable, I’ll leave immediately so you might continue to enjoy your evening.”

Arabella blinked, stunned to the core. Of all the rules that she had supposed a wealthy, extremely powerful duke might want to break, that was literally the last one. And the aching loneliness in Stanforth’s voice when he’d spoken of his past!

She shifted restlessly on the armchair. Initiating a novice was an erotic fantasy she didn’t even know she wanted until Vee had put forth the idea. And it was arousing beyond measure. But this man, this duke, was already tugging at her heartstrings, a thoroughly unwanted concern and tenderness well beyond merely wanting to command his body in bed. And that was bloody terrifying.

In saying that, though, if everyone already knew everyone, why bother with the masks and hair covers? When it came to fucking, they were an annoyance. And it was naturally easier to be Arabella rather than Laurel. Would it really be so bad if they broke this particular rule in this private, locked room? No one need ever know. And it was only for one night, after all.

Arabella rose slowly to her feet and approached the duke. When she stood directly in front of him, she placed her hand in the center of his chest, allowing her fingertips to brush his flat male nipples through the satin of his tunic, making him groan. A swift glance down confirmed that indeed, that rather splendid erection still very much wished to play.

“Very well,” she said briskly. “I will permit the removal of masks and hair coverings this evening. And the use of real names. But understand one thing, Your Grace…if you remain in this chamber, you will belong to me the entire time, following my every command just as my husband does. If you are truly ready to experience the erotic freedom in submitting to a woman, then say yes. I will move slowly…but I’ll not be gentle.”

The duke moaned softly, his heartbeat becoming slightly erratic under her palm. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Oh yes.”

Arabella smiled inwardly. Even now, her prospective pet was angling his shoulders a little so she might caress him further. Stanforth was clearly touch-starved, something that would shortly be remedied.