My Three Masters (3 page)

A finger probed inside me, the sensation so alien and
intriguing, I felt my tissues clench against it. “How sweet you are,” he
muttered. “Like a tender fruit waiting to be split open. I do believe I might
be the perfect master for you after all.”

One swift, sure movement of his thumb and I plunged over the
edge into that sweet shivery rush that provided the only refuge in my dreary
days. But this was so much more, so much deeper and longer and more…extravagant
than anything I was able to grant myself. Gripped between his leg, I shuddered
and panted for long, endless moments against his hand.

“That’s right, my sweet, come for me, long and hard, that’s
the way,” chanted the Marquis.

As I came down from that incredible peak of pleasure,
reality also descended like a dark veil of shame. I’d just lifted my skirts and
taken my pleasure before the despicable Marquis de Beaumont. What kind of
person was I?

I wrenched myself away from his grasp and fled toward the
door, which was still open. Anyone could have entered, and I would have been
none the wiser, lost in my illicit passion.

The Marquis called after me but I ignored him. I hurtled
through the hall and up the stairs. He wouldn’t dare to come in the Marquise’s
bedchamber uninvited, so I knew I was safe in my little cubbyhole. As soon as
the door closed behind me, I began to pack. I’d stay until the Marquise had
passed on, then I’d leave. If I was lucky, I’d never have to see the Marquis
again, never have to face the lustful side of myself he’d exposed so
ruthlessly.

* * * * *

Dorchester House—Lady Alicia’s sitting room—A week
later

Lady Alicia, the Countess of Dorchester, held her
six-month-old baby on one knee and bounced her up and down. “Are you sure you
don’t want to kiss her? She is a female, after all.” She gave her guest a
ravishingly naughty smile.

The Marquis of Beaumont shuddered. “I think not, my dear,
though I will admit your new daughter has brought an even greater glow to your
lovely face.”

“I never thought to be this happy,” she said simply. “I only
wish everyone could be so.”

“You can cross me off that particular list,” he said
bitterly.

“You haven’t mentioned the Marquise’s death,” continued Lady
Alicia.

“Have I not?”

“No, you have not. And I find it odd.” Alicia had never been
one to shy from the truth. Her outspoken honesty had drawn his attention when
she’d been little more than a child. It hadn’t changed one whit since then.

“Why should you find anything about me odd after all we’ve
been through?”

“Are you saddened by her death? Rejoicing? Come now, Gerard,
you needn’t mince words with me.”

The Marquis rose to his feet, sauntered to a bottle of
brandy that awaited on a neatly arranged tray. “Must you always extract the
emotions from a man as if you were drawing out a rotten tooth?”

“If you need brandy to deaden the sensation, help yourself.”

“Excellent notion.” He poured himself a snifter-full and
stared down at the amber liquid. Miranda’s eyes were a few shades more brown
than this brandy, and her hair… With sudden clarity, he knew her hair wasn’t
horsehide brown. She dyed it. He swung around to face Alicia. “I’m puzzled.”

“Puzzled?” Alicia tugged on the bellpull. A moment later a
gray-haired nursemaid appeared. Alicia handed the baby girl to her and she
hobbled off.

“A bit long in the tooth to be tending a baby, is she not?”

“Are you attempting to distract me? It won’t work. Why are
you puzzled?”

“Because I seem to have inherited something from my wife.
Some
one
, to be accurate. A girl.”

“A
girl
? A baby girl?”

“Nothing of the sort.” He had reason to know that Miranda
was fully, most lusciously grown. “She tended the Marquise during her final
illness and I barely heard her speak ten words the entire time. And yet…”

“And yet?” Lady Alicia raised an eyebrow. All of them knew
she and the Marquis had a special bond, one that went hand in hand with their
sexual affinity.

“She fascinates me. There’s a secret there, perhaps more
than one. She has a terrifying scar that runs the length of her face from her
hairline to her jaw. It’s nearly the purple of an aubergine, and it’s raised
and vicious and swollen. At first it was difficult to look at her. I almost
didn’t notice the sweet body she hides under her nursemaid uniform. But…”

Alicia erupted into a peal of merry laughter. “Only you,
Gerard. Only you could lust after your wife’s deathbed nurse.”

Gerard didn’t bother to look shamefaced. “I don’t merely
lust after her. I’m intrigued. I want to know her secrets. Who scarred her? She
can’t be more than twenty. Why is such a young woman working as a nurse? How
was she able to inspire loyalty in a woman as hard-hearted as Angelique?”

“Twenty…” Alicia murmured.

“If that. She’s painfully young, yet there’s a look in her
eyes as if she’s lived ten lifetimes. And yet I see no bitterness there. As
crotchety and whimsical as Angelique could be, I never saw her lose patience or
say a sharp word. Where does such a temperament come from?”

“You’re fascinated.”

“I suppose I am. But most of all, I want to protect her. I
was glad when the Marquise requested I look out for her. But she’s… Well, she
ran from me.” Strangely, he found he didn’t want to share the memory of that
encounter in the library, blurred by drink as it was. He wanted to ponder it
some more and relive the delicious way she’d come all over his hand. “She
probably thinks I’m a debauched villain.”

Alicia rose to her feet and came toward him. She cupped his
face in her hands. He inhaled the scent of meadow grass that always hovered
over her hair. “I happen to know your most sinful days are behind you. Why, you
haven’t debauched a virgin since my honeymoon.”

His pulse quickened. Had Alicia’s usual lusty appetites
returned? They hadn’t enjoyed their former scandalous activities in quite some
time. He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t toy with me,
chérie
. I’m far too
deprived to tolerate it.”

“No toying. Come see us tonight. The Duke will be back from
his journey to Sussex. The Earl is on a hunting trip in Northumberland, so it
will be just us.” She rubbed her head, catlike, against his lapel, fairly
purring as she did so. “And I may have a solution for you.”

Dorchester House—Master bedchamber—That night

If only society really knew what happened behind the locked
doors of the Countess of Dorchester’s bedchamber. The rumors were rife, of
course. It seemed the Duke spent more time at the Earl’s residence than he did
at his own. The fact that they were distant cousins and the Duke of Warrington
had long ago named the Earl of Dorchester as his heir did nothing to answer the
persistent whispers.

They say the Earl loves his new wife almost as much as
his stables.

And her bed is busier than the stables.

With three lords coming and going, it’s no wonder. But
whose child is it?

I’d put money on the Duke.

Ten quid on the Earl.

The Marquis is a long shot, of course.

I give a thousand pounds to any man who dares to ask any
one of the three lords that question.

How many society gossips would pay a thousand pounds to see
the inside of Lady Alicia’s bedchamber now? The huge bed was rumpled, its linen
in utter disarray. Alicia knelt on all fours, straddling the body of the Duke
of Warrington. Stark naked and panting, she flung her damp, golden-wheat hair
away from her face. It was getting in the way of her eager tongue, which was
lapping at the Duke of Warrington’s cock in a voracious way that made the
Marquis’ rod harden even further. The Duke’s eyes were half closed, revealing
only the barest sliver of green showing through.

The Marquis ate up the sight of the Duke’s rippling muscles
and powerful, jutting cock, so big Alicia couldn’t contain it in her little
mouth. He’d lusted after the Duke for so long; but only once Alicia had fallen
in love with the Duke, and he with her, had the Marquis been able to live his
fantasy.

Beads of sweat dotted the Duke’s forehead, no doubt due to
the strain of holding himself back from exploding into Alicia’s sweet mouth.

“Christ, my sweet,” he groaned. “It’s been too long. I can’t
last.”

“Marquis,” mumbled Alicia through her mouthful of rutting
manhood. “Hurry, I beg you.”

What was he waiting for? The Marquis settled on the mattress
behind her, admiring her parted legs and the cunt that wept for attention.
Gently he touched the pink, tender lips. She jumped in response, her bottom
quivering, the puckered hole beckoning to him. This was his territory, and he
reveled in it. He fingered her quim, feeling her sweet juices run hot and her
body buck. God, she was ready, past ready. He increased the pace of his rubbing
while she moaned and pushed her bottom at him.

“What do you want, little cat? You’ve been craving this,
haven’t you, greedy little piece?”

Her frenzy only increased at his dark, dirty tone. He
spanked her on one luscious cheek, then the other. A keening noise came from
the area of the Duke’s cock. The Duke clenched his jaw, his body going rigid.
The Marquis knew the signs; the Duke was so close one hard suck would bring him
off.

Alicia knew too; she lifted her head from the Duke’s cock,
which jutted huge and glistening into the empty air. The Duke let out a deep,
suffering groan. Alicia looked over her shoulder at the Marquis with big,
pleading eyes. Those eyes… Suddenly he saw Miranda’s face where Alicia’s should
be. Tea-tinted, sable-lashed eyes clung to his, begging him to fuck her hard,
make her scream.

The girl was haunting him.

He dipped two fingers in Alicia’s cunt, then used her own
cream to lubricate her bottom hole. He inserted a finger inside, feeling the
rim tighten, then relax. It hadn’t been so long, after all.

“Forward,” he ordered Alicia and, trembling, she shifted
higher on the Duke’s body, so his rearing cock—so hard the veins stood
out—reached her quim. The Duke’s hands shook as he gripped her hips and pressed
her hot little nub with his thumb.

She cried out, exploding at the Duke’s touch. The Marquis
met the Duke’s gaze over Alicia’s quaking back.

“Don’t let her go until she’s halfway to oblivion,” he said.

The Duke shook his head with a shaky attempt at a laugh. “I
know better. Now do it, man.”

They breached her simultaneously. Like two men with one
thought, they pierced her hot, already quivering body. Alicia gave a choked
sound; her chest collapsed onto the Duke’s. Gerard pressed onward, feeling the
reluctant give of her rear muscles. He felt the slide of the Duke’s cock
through her walls, felt the mad tremors race through Alicia’s passageway. Her
short, sharp cries reached him through the roar of blood in his ears.

“So good,” she kept sobbing. “So good, so good.”

“Fuck us,” growled the Marquis. “Fuck us hard.”

A roar wrenched from the Duke’s throat. His body arched into
a taut bend so heartbreakingly beautiful it brought tears to the Marquis’ eyes.
His own orgasm burst forth in an uncontrollable rush as he buried himself all
the way to his balls. He clung to her shoulders, letting the hot pulse of
ecstasy wash through him, carry him away across brilliant waves and soaring
clouds to a distant, pure land. On its shores a figure waited, still and
innocent. She turned to greet him and he saw her scar.

The next morning, a messenger arrived with the news that
Miss Miranda Brown had disappeared.

* * * * *

The streets of London—two days later

I wasn’t sure why I had left in the middle of the night.
Surely the Marquis de Beaumont would be relieved that I would no longer be his
responsibility. Perhaps he’d been repulsed by what had happened between us.
What did I fear, that he would come after me? That he’d take me in his arms and
do more wicked things to me?

Or was fear the wrong word? Did I secretly desire exactly
that?

I knew how to disappear in the dark streets of London, how
to keep to the alleys and shrink against the walls. That first night I did so,
but after that I gave myself a strict lecture.
The Marquis is not chasing
after you
.
He’s at his club, or he’s gambling, or he’s at a brothel,
or whatever dissolute noblemen do when their hated wives die. Or perhaps the
Marquise’s accusations were true and he was doing unimaginable things with
three other members of the dastardly aristocracy.

My guardian had been a member of that class—as had I—so I
had good reason to use such words.

I slept for two nights in the doorway of a butcher shop and
an apothecary, respectively. I wanted to save my precious coins for a boarding
house once I determined where to live. My small stash wouldn’t last long, so I
would have to find new employment as soon as possible. On the next day, wrapped
in my brown cloak, hiding my face, I made my way to the Hospital for the
Criminally Insane. I’d heard it was so terrible that they would hire almost
anyone—perhaps even a girl with a scar ugly enough to frighten a ghost, let
alone a lunatic.

The ability to nurse patients back to health provided the only
purpose to my life. The Marquis had no need for a nurse, unless it was to heal
his blackened soul. But that would take more than one simple girl.

The hospital was located in one of the filthiest
neighborhoods in London. The stench of rotting fruit and urine rose from the
streets. Beggar children scampered this way and that, occasionally converging
on a new arrival. They surrounded me until I turned my scar on them with a
growl, then they scattered.

My flaw had its uses.

I waited for a drover to pass, then a crowd of young boys
hooting and hollering. Across the street loomed a large brick building with
iron bars on the window. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought I heard
voices moaning and howling within.
Even the criminally insane deserve
healers
, I told myself, and straightened my spine.
Just go, step
forward, knock on the door and ask to see the director.
I lifted one foot,
took a deep breath—and found myself spinning in the opposite direction thanks
to a firm hand on my arm.

I gasped at the sight of the Marquis.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled at me.

“S-seeking employment,” I stammered.

“Nonsense. You’re coming with me.” He still hadn’t released
my arm, and now proceeded to tug me toward his carriage, a shiny black affair
with a matched pair of equally black horses.

I planted my heels on the broken cobblestones. “No, I am
not.” I tried to wrench my arm from his grasp but his strength was too much for
me.

The Marquis swung back around to face me. He looked me up
and down with narrowed eyes that sent a shiver through me. “I promised to take
care of you. I never break my promises. Everyone knows that.”

“I didn’t ask for any promises.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“How is it irrelevant?” In my outrage, I used my normal
voice, the one I’d been bred to, instead of my servant voice. “You can consider
your duty to be discharged, as I intend to take care of myself. You need not
concern yourself.”

If he noticed my haughty accent, he gave no indication.

“I’m afraid I can’t accept that, as I find you about to walk
inside the Hospital for the Criminally Insane. I’d hardly call that taking care
of yourself. Though I must say your time spent tending my wife may very well
qualify you for such work.”

I ignored the insult to my former mistress. I knew she
probably deserved it, and that she would have laughed gleefully at his
cleverness. “I’ve been in worse situations.”

“As I well know.”

“I’m not referring to your wife.”

“No, you’re too kind to do that. That’s why I can’t let you
go in that building.”

“Pardon me?”

The Marquis lifted a hand to my good cheek. I reared back.
But he didn’t hurt me, merely shaped his hand to my face. He fixed his
glittering black eyes on me. The intensity of his gaze made my knees tremble.
The Marquis could hardly be called a handsome man, but I’d always found it
impossible to be unaware of his presence. “You, my dear,” he said softly, “have
a kind heart and an innocence that I refuse to see destroyed. You may think me
the blackest of villains, but right now consider me your defender and
guardian.”

Guardian.

Little did he know what a poor choice of words he’d made. I
whirled and fairly threw myself down the street in the opposite direction. He
swore loudly and his footsteps echoed behind me on the rough surface of the
street. I had no chance of escape, but I gave it all I had. I dodged through
the crowds, hoping I’d disappear among the dirty masses. I darted into crooked,
narrow, stinking alleys. And still those footsteps pounded after me.

He finally caught up to me at a dank corner piled with
refuse. Stray cats yowled and leaped away from the garbage. A rat scurried into
the darkness. And an elegant gentleman clamped his hand on my shoulder and
turned me to face his panting visage. “I’m not used to working this hard for a
female,” he ground out, nearly as breathless as I was.

“I…can’t…go with you,” I panted.

“Why not?”

“Because… I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure you are.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped his
dark forehead. “And I didn’t help with my actions in the library. Yes, I’m a
reprobate. My sexual appetites are legendary. I revel in the sensual potential
of women—and men, for that matter. I’ve fucked merrily and mercilessly since
the age of twelve. I make no apologies for any of that. But do you think I’m so
beyond redemption that I would touch a woman who doesn’t want me?”

My gaze faltered. It wasn’t that, precisely.

“You know I never break my promises. And I promise that I
will never touch you again unless you want me to.”

That was it. The real problem. I already wanted him to—but I
could never let him know that. I didn’t know what my desire said about me, but
it scared me.

“Besides,” he continued. “What makes you think you’d be
working for me? I have no need of a nurse.”

My head snapped up at that. I’d thought precisely the same
thing, and somehow come to the conclusion I’d end up in the Marquis’ harem of
iniquity. “What… Where…”

“My dear friends the Earl and Countess of Dorchester have a
new baby whose nursemaid is about to push up the daisies. They’re devoted to
the old crone, but have need of reinforcements. Think of it. Back there you’d
be tending to untold numbers of dangerous bedlamites. If you come with me,
you’ll have charge of one very sweet baby girl. Not always sweet-smelling, mind
you, but certainly more fragrant than anyone in this vicinity.”

He held his handkerchief to his nose in exaggerated disgust.
The lace fell back from his wrists; he looked the very picture of an offended
aristocrat. One would never guess that several minutes ago he’d been pounding
through the streets like a footballer.

I giggled. Yes, giggled. I, who hadn’t laughed since the age
of sixteen, giggled at the sight of the Marquis’ gesture of exquisite
revulsion.

An unholy gleam lit up his eyes, and suddenly we were
conspirators. Equals in our appreciation of the absurd. I’d never felt such a
feeling in the presence of a man, and I certainly never expected to feel it
with the Marquis. He smiled at me, a full, straightforward smile unlike his
usual cynical smirk.

It occurred to me, in that moment, that his gaze hadn’t once
strayed to my scar, as most people’s did. In fact, I’d forgotten about it until
that moment.

I stopped laughing. “You make some excellent points, my
lord. Perhaps I was a bit overhasty in my actions.”

“Then you will come with me to Sussex?”

“Sussex?”

“They’ve gone to their country estate for the rest of the
Season.”

I thought about his offer. Images came to me—a baby crowing
with laughter, the pure scent of bathwater running down a chubby little body,
the feathery softness of a freshly laundered baby blanket. I knew not where
such pictures came from; I’d had no experience with babies since I’d left the
Vicious Viscount’s lair, and none that I recalled before then. Perhaps my own
childhood spoke to me in that moment.