Eliza Lloyd (7 page)

“We did not need to marry. I am yours no matter the
circumstance.”

“You are the most patient man.”

“And now I need
your
patience.”

She went to her elbow beside him and stared down, placing
her hand on his chest.

“John, what is it?”

“I must go away for a few months.”

“A few months?” Her fingers tightened against his arm.

“After we return to England. I will write. You needn’t
worry.”

“I don’t understand. We are married now.”

“And it is this blessed event that requires your husband to
act. There are things I must do to protect our future…your future. And it is
best that I do not share the details at the moment.”

“No. I can’t let you go. Not now.”

He clutched her hand, entwining his fingers with hers.

“Nothing will keep me from you. And I will not allow my past
ever to taint you.”

When they returned to London, he submitted his resignation
after years of faithful service to the Wallingford Duchy. Lucy had to pretended
indifference that one of her servants was departing the household. The simple
act had grave consequences for them. Knowing her as he did, he knew he caused
her pain while she behaved with stoic grace.

Lucy was not there to say goodbye though the house servants
had all wished him well. He had left her early that morning while she cried in
her pillow.

In the few months that followed, he dutifully sent letters
to his beloved Lucy while he prepared for his entrance into London society.
Alice had delivered on her promise to provide letters of introduction from
London’s crème de la crème or, as she knew them, the most debauched nobles who
partook of the whorehouse’s services.

All of the letters introduced one Giangiordano Allaine de
Bracciano, Duca di Lazio. The name was a mouthful, the Italian language not so
difficult, but the history of the House of Orsini was a messy lineage that took
several weeks of study. Every other spare moment was spent further perfecting
his mannerisms.

The Orsinis didn’t know of his existence. Beyond this first
season and the whirlwind romance of the Duca di Lazio and the Duchess of Wallingford,
they would spend little time in London, so the risk of discovery was minimal.
He needed only the impact and the title. Afterward he would live his day-to-day
life as he always had, loving his wife.

He hoped Lucy would not faint at the sight of his facial
hair, though he thought he looked quite dashing with the mustache and goatee.
His wardrobe was designed and sewn by the best tailor in Rome. He’d never
looked like such a dandy.

John Allen had remade himself as a young man. There was no
reason to believe he could not do it again, not when the stakes were so high.

His Lucy would always be his duchess.

John, or rather the Duca di Lazio, did not arrive in England
until after the season had started, with valet in tow. He’d let a modest but
respectable home. He presented himself to the appropriate homes with his
letters of introduction and within a few days had received a surprising number
of invitations to balls and soirees, to which Lucy would have also been
invited.

When his name was announced at the Marquess and Marchioness
of Scarborough’s ball, John felt a moment of anxiety. Was he doing the right
thing for Lucy? It was one thing to be her lover…but her husband? Maybe the
father of her child or children?

He’d spent what seemed a lifetime being desired by women.
For much of that time, he had believed his physique was a curse. Poverty and
aloneness had driven his ambition to be something—Alice, of course, knew how to
profit from his only real asset.

Lucy, however, had changed his ambition into something
greater. Maybe honor and love wouldn’t ever feed him or warm him but…

Then she was announced and John turned to stare at her as
she descended the staircase into the Scarborough’s dancing hall. He couldn’t
help but smile, ignoring the grand dame who had her arm wrapped in his, telling
him about her recent visit to Naples. He’d never seen the dress Lucy was
wearing—a shimmering gown the color of lilacs. Her shoulders gleamed and her
dark hair was piled high with a few wispy strands hanging in curls.

She was a duchess. And in the world’s eyes, John Allen would
never be good enough for her. The Duca di Lazio would.

Lucy did not dance though there were plenty of men who bowed
over her hand and a few of them who lingered. He was introduced to several
eligible women, a few of whom asked if they knew him. He chose not to dwell on
his past and to which women he might have stood stud, another of whom was
quizzing him about his background.

“Have you been to the Pontine Islands?” he asked
distractedly. His gaze followed Lucy until she was lost in the crowd.

“Where is that?”

John endured the questions, the subtle glances and the
torture of waiting for the right moment.

It took an hour before he was led to the most beautiful
woman in the room. Lucy was all smiles, staring up at the countess who led him
her way.

“Your Grace,” John said as he bowed over and then kissed her
gloved hand. He squeezed gently before he released.

Her smile had frozen on her face and her eyes glistened with
tears but she said nothing.

“Might I be so bold as to request a dance, Your Grace?”

“Certainly.” Her voice was steady but shy.

“Ah, the music has started.” He held out his arm and she
clutched him as he led her to the floor. In the center of the room, he nodded
to her once again, placed his hand on her waist and held his hand high.

“I won’t step on your toes,” he said quietly, for her ears
only. He didn’t hear the cacophony around him, he heard only her.

“John,” she whispered.

“Di Lazio, at your service.”

His step was sure and Lucy followed as if they were meant to
dance every waltz together. They stared at each other through each turn.

“I can’t believe you are here,” she said at last.

He smiled. “I had a dream of a beautiful woman who would
sweep me off my feet, so I left my home in Italy to find her. And now that I’ve
met her, I feel myself falling madly in love. I think I will ask her to be my
wife.”

“What if she is already married?”

“Then he is the luckiest man alive.”

“I need you, John.” She held his hand fiercely.

“And I you, my love. But you deserve so much more than plain
John Allen.”

“I love you as you are.”

“And I love you as you are and I won’t let anyone take it
from you.”

The dance was coming to an end. “Come to me tonight,” she
said.

“No, we will do this properly.” He squeezed her hand one
last time, releasing her with great reluctance. He bowed again. “Would you join
me tomorrow, Your Grace? A carriage ride, perhaps?”

“I would be delighted.”

Over the next few weeks, the Duchess of Wallingford was
often seen in the company of the dashing Duca di Lazio, so it was no surprise
when it was announced that they were married by special license and departed
for a Continental tour. Their marriage was the romance of the season.

Vincent was safely sheltered with Lucy’s sister and Mr. Darrow
had hired a new valet for him along with a private tutor until Vincent went off
to Eaton.

As the White Cliffs of Dover receded on the horizon, John
and Lucy had retired to their cabin, which was scented with roses. The lull of
the ship was soothing and when the door closed behind them, it was nearly the
first intimate moment they had had since he’d returned to England.

Lucy fell into his arms and wrapped hers tightly about his
neck, pressing kisses to his face. “I am never again letting you out of my
sight.”

“It is my hope as well.”

“Oh Lud, what you do to me,” she said, followed by a deep
sigh. “You must help me from this dress.”

“There is no hurry.”

“There is. I must have you now.”

She fumbled with the furbelows and buttons. John tore at his
cravat, removing it and his jacket, waistcoat and shirt with ease. Lucy was
still working at her buttons while swaying to the gentle tipping of the boat.

“Turn.” He stepped behind her, skirts wrapping about his
legs. His firm resolve was melting quickly. All had depended upon his absolute
determination to woo and wed her correctly, in a manner acceptable to the
staunchest critic.

He pressed his lips and mouth to her skin as the silks and
layers fell away. She was elixir. Water in the desert. Life.

When she was naked, she crawled into the narrow confines of
their bed. Once he shed his boots and trousers, he lay on his side next to her.

Her hands were busy, caressing his chest and stroking along
the length of his erection. “Have I told you how much I missed you?”

“Which one of us are you talking to?” he asked.

“
You
, silly man.”

She slid her leg over his waist and he rolled to his back,
helping Lucy to straddle him. His cock nestled between her thighs, protected
and warm. She braced her hands against his chest before lowering her breasts to
his face.

John was never happier to be home. He cupped her offering
and gently laved first one and then the other. She arched and moaned, causing a
gentle rocking along his cock.

“Always wet,” he said.

“Because I want you. Always.”

He gripped her hips and lifted her onto his cock. He closed
his eyes for a moment, wanting to experience and remember this day. She smiled
and squirmed, taking him by slow degrees.

“Oh, I’ve missed this too.”

She was tight. So tight. But she didn’t seem to notice that
he was feeling very green and untried. Lucy seemed to be playing, wiggling her
ass over his groin, running her fingers over his chest and tweaking at the
small, pebbled disks on his chest.

She had never been able to take him all but she seemed determined.
She pushed up using her thighs and then slid back down hard. “Oh,” she said. “I
feel you everywhere.”

John didn’t have the ability to answer. It was a bit
humbling to realize that his slip of a wife could cause him to lose control
when he was perfectly versed at protracted sexual intimacies and bringing any
woman to release. He never ejaculated when he was not prepared to do so.

“Madame Dupuis sent me a wedding gift,” Lucy said. She had
started short little thrusts, riding him slowly. He could barely hear past his
own erratic breathing.

“A gift?”

“Dildos.”

She had his full attention.

“There is a slim mahogany one I think you’ll like.”

His throat clogged and he held his breath, fearful he was
about to spill.

“I have it ready for you.”

“For me?” She hadn’t stopped the slow undulations, but the
promise of wickedness delivered at the hands of his Lucy had him heated. A
trickle of sweat ran behind his ear. The room was stifling.

She reached toward the pillow beside him and withdrew the
mahogany wood, polished into a smooth-shaped phallus. “You’ll have to help me.
I don’t want to do it wrong.”

Did she mean to take it in? Or had he had some perverted
hopes, remnants of his previous erotic life that had him wishing she meant to
service him?

The rod was coated with oil and when her hand disappeared
behind her back, he waited. She looked over her shoulder. “Oh, I knew I was
going to do this wrong. I think you’ll have to spread your legs.”

His nostrils flared. He spread his legs even though he knew
there were easier ways. He lifted slightly while trying to remain calm. Lucy
bit at her lips and then he felt the first tentative prod at his ass.

“That’s it,” he said. “There.” She nudged him, right at the
tight sphincter. “There. Push firmly. Don’t worry.” His building arousal was
making his vision blur.

She pushed the wood past the first tight ring. As it slid
deeper into his body, he let out a rush of air. He bucked into Lucy, causing
her to moan.

He clenched against the intrusion. His groin and stomach
muscles contracted. Sharp pleasure spread through him. His control was lost.

“Oh, I’m sorry Lucy. I’m sorry. Ohhh.” He groaned, unable to
control his reaction.

He bucked upward, once, twice and a third time, spilling
copious amounts of seminal fluid. Into her.

Lucy no longer held the dildo in place. He brought his legs
together, still feeling and enjoying the intrusion in his ass. Lucy’s sheath
was warm but not convulsing in release. His cock was still hard inside her
body—maybe he would stay that way while the phallus kept him on edge.

She lay over him, repositioning her legs, entwining them
with his. She rested her face against his chest.

“I missed how you smelled.”

“Like a dandy?”

“No. Like a man. Will you shave this?” She caressed over the
hair of his chin.

“I can’t. Not yet. Once we tell Vincent, once he is able to
handle the dukedom on his own, I will. There are too many servants who will
know me. We’ll have our own household where our life will be reality.”

“Thank you. It was wonderful to be courted those few weeks.
In the open. I noticed Lady Crawford had her eye on you.”

“Is it only married women who are interested in me?”

“Just one. What’s next for us, Gian?” she asked, emphasizing
his Italian name.

“More last nights than you can imagine. But this night is
whatever you want it to be. This is our world to make it as we will.”

And they did.

This night, however, started with a slow kiss and never
ended.

Eliza thinks romance writing is nearly as good as the real
thing. Given her choice of professions, she would have preferred to be a 19th-century
archeologist, but she is perfectly happy living in the 21st century and
comfortably writing about such romantic but inconceivably inconvenient times,
instead.

She enjoys traveling, movies, everyone else’s novels and a
good meal out with friends on Saturday night. Her greatest flaw is that she
believes there is such a thing as true love. Don’t tell her otherwise, please.

Eliza welcomes comments from readers. You can find her email
address on her
author
bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.

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