The Duchess (39 page)

She excited him. God in His heaven, she excited him! He could never get enough of her, but he was certainly going to try. He began to explore her body with his lips and his tongue. She made little noises indicating her pleasure as he caressed, and kissed, and licked at her. Her skin was petal soft, and just faintly fragrant with the scent of lilac. There seemed to be pulses wherever he touched her. It roused his senses even further.

“Do it!”
her voice suddenly pleaded urgently, squirming against him in a suggestive and provocative manner.
“Please!”

“Do what?” he teased her, almost cruelly. He was fairly certain of what it was she wanted.

“With your tongue.
Please!”
she cried to him.

“Where?”
he taunted. Now he was positive of her need.

“There!”
she almost screamed. She was going to kill him if he didn't put his tongue on her, and make her mindless.

“Here?”
he questioned, his tongue probing her navel.

“I hate you!” she half sobbed.

“Or perhaps,” he paused, positioning his big frame properly.
“Here!”
His tongue made contact with her little love button, and he heard her shriek softly. Slowly, slowly, he licked it, tasting the salt and the musk of her, watching as it grew swollen with her desire. Then the duke did something he had not done before. His palms lifted Allegra's bottom up, and he pushed his face against her hot sex, his tongue seeking, and then finding, her passage to push as deep as he could within, using it as he would his manhood.

It was then she screamed, feeling that digit thrusting inside her in an incredibly intimate and secret act. “Ohh, God!” she sobbed. “Ohh, I didn't know!” She dug her fingers into his shoulders. Her nails pressed deep. She clawed at him desperately.
“Make it happen!”
she begged him. She was so close, and yet she could not reach her heaven. His tongue continued to tease and torture her until she thought she would explode with her longing.

His manhood was hard. It was raging to plunder her sweet depths. He couldn't continue until he had ravaged her completely. His head lifted from the hot and marshy depths. He covered her body with his, his rod thrusting into her. Her cry of utter pleasure almost cost him his own. He leaned forward and kissed her hard, his hips pressing against hers in a rhythmic cadence of ancient lust that she met eagerly. He groaned, his head awash
with his passion for her. For his beautiful and desirable wife.
For Allegra!

Her own senses were reeling with her longing and the hot sweet delight that he offered her. She soared. She flew higher, and higher until her cravings all seemed to come together, and burst in a fiery balloon of lustful triumphant joy. And then she was falling, falling, falling, down into a dark and warm abyss where the pleasure slowly, slowly drained away. Then all was nothingness.

When her senses finally began to return she discovered that he was sprawled across her, still panting. Their bodies were wet with their efforts. “You … are … wonderful,” she managed to say to him, and she caressed his dark hair.

He pulled himself off of her, and rolled onto his back. “You,” he told her sincerely, “are incredible, my darling duchess.”

“I love you,” she replied, drawing the coverlet up over them.

“And I love you, Allegra,” he responded, reaching for her hand. “Oh, my darling girl, how I love you!”

When the morning came they discovered that Madame Paul had already delivered the costumes that they would wear on their mission to rescue the Comtesse d'Aumont and her children. She had come herself, knocking on the door in the darkness of the predawn. Allegra opened the box, and was astounded by what she found. There were four ragged and grubby skirts, and an equal number of dirty tricolor sashes. Four patched white blouses, four pairs of wooden shoes, and four limp dingy mobcaps. In a second box were three grimy men's shirts, three pairs of baggy pantaloons, three short carmagnole peasant jackets, and
three red felt Phrygian caps ornamented with the tricolor cockade. There were also wooden shoes for the gentlemen.

“It's wonderful,” Allegra said. “Dressed up in this lot we will look just as we should.”

“Why are there four sets of women's costumes?” the duke asked his wife quietly.

“Because Honor is going with us,” Allegra said as quietly. “She speaks excellent French, Quinton, and she has very good common sense in matters of which we may not be familiar.”

“How is it your maid speaks
excellent
French?” the duke demanded, curious.

“Because she sat with me in the schoolroom for years, my darling. One day when James Lucian and I were having difficulty conjugating a verb, Honor chimed right in with the correct conjugation, and in a rather good accent, according to our tutor. She had, it seems, been learning right along with my brother and me. She will be very helpful, Quinton. You will see.”

He laughed. It would, he knew, be useless to argue with Allegra. Worse, she was probably perfectly correct. And it was rather amusing to boot. His wife's country girl of a servant spoke, to quote Allegra, “excellent French.” “If you believe Honor can aid us, and if she is willing to risk the danger involved,” the duke told his wife, “then I can have no objection, my darling duchess.”

Allegra threw her arms about her husband, and kissed him. “Oh, thank you for not disagreeing with me, Quinton. I am so relieved that you trust my judgment in this matter.”

He smiled down into her wonderful violet-colored eyes, and then gave her a quick kiss. What choice did he actually have, he wondered silently to himself.

“We should not be seen in these clothes until we reach France,” Allegra said. “I will have Honor stuff them into a little bag we are to bring aboard Marcus's yacht. They can be no worse for the wear for such treatment than they already are,” she concluded with a chuckle.

“What I want to know,” the duke said, “is how she came into possession of such garments? It is most curious that she had them.”

“Perhaps,” Allegra said thoughtfully, “they belonged to some of the émigrés from France. Or, mayhap there are others who do what we are going to do to help out their family and friends. I have heard a rumor while we have been in London about some fellow who is known as the Scarlet Pimpernel. He is supposed to go into France to rescue innocents.”

“It is comforting to know that there are others as foolish as we are,” the duke replied dryly.

“It is our English sense of fair play,” Allegra said. “One simply does not execute a king, although I seem to recall that we English did so once ourselves. But we did not conduct a reign of terror then against everyone who disagreed with us.”

“No,” the duke remarked, “we just went to war against one another. Innocents were killed in that conflict as well.”

“But that was almost two hundred years ago, Quinton,” Allegra noted. “These are modern times. People should not be so savage today.”

“But they are, and so we will go to France, and attempt to bring back the Bellinghams' niece and her little family,” Quinton Hunter said.

Honor and Hawkins had packed their master and mistress's trunks. While it might be considered a bit odd to visit Brighton in early March, it was the best excuse
that they could think of for their absence from London. Charles Trent had been told of their mission, and while he did not approve, there was little he could do but to see that the duke and duchess had the funds that they would need for their journey. He even included a bag of French coins.

“You may need to resort to bribery,” he said. His disapproval was most obvious. “What am I going to tell your father?” he demanded of Allegra.

“Tell him nothing,” she said quietly. “We will be back in England as quickly as we can, and I do not choose to fret him. Aunt Mama has not been well this winter, and he is worried enough.”

“Tell me your plan,” her father's secretary asked.

She quickly explained.

He nodded. “It should work, but you cannot linger. Go in, get the lay of the land, retrieve the Bellinghams' kin, and get out as quickly as you can. There will be less danger for you that way. Do you understand, Your Grace? These charades you are playing at are terribly, terribly dangerous.”

“I know, Charles,” she said, using his Christian name, which she rarely did. “But I believe we can do this, and the Bellinghams have been so good to us all.”

“I understand your reasoning, Your Grace, but if anything happened to
any
of you, it would put a terrible burden of guilt on the Bellinghams. They are not young, and this situation with their niece has distressed them greatly. Remember, your first duty is to your husband and his family. If the choice is between your safety, and the d'Aumont family, you must think of yourself first.”

“You worry far too much, Charles,” Allegra replied, and then standing on her tiptoes she kissed his cheek, causing him to blush a bright beet red. “We will be back before you realize we have been gone at all,” she
promised him. Then Allegra went out the door to join her husband in their traveling coach.

The sun was just coming up as they cleared the city and took the road to Brighton. They would meet up with their friends at an inn there known as The King's Arms. The trip, along what was called the New Road, was the most direct to Brighton, and in the best condition. Mr. Trent had arranged for four changes of horses along their route. Consequently their trip took only five hours.

The King's Arms was located on the harbor. It was a large comfortable establishment, popular with travelers, although the difficulties in France had taken away some of their business. Mr. Trent had arranged for a suite of rooms for the duke, and large bedrooms for the earl and Lord Walworth. All were located next to one another in a separate wing of the inn. It had been decided that Hawkins would remain behind to watch over the luggage. The rooms had been paid for in advance. It was more than likely that they would need immediate shelter upon their return for the Comtesse d'Aumont and her children. They would also not want to cause any disturbance upon their arrival that would draw attention to themselves. Brighton had its share of spies, or so they had been told.

The landlord hurried forward to greet them personally. “Welcome, Your Grace,” he said bowing to the duke. “Your friends have only just arrived. Come in! Come in! Your rooms are ready for you.”

“You have been told,” Quinton Hunter said in his most superior and ducal voice, “that we will retain our rooms while we cruise on the Earl of Aston's yacht? My man, Hawkins, will remain behind. You'll see that he's fed? Hawkins don't like the sea, do you Hawkins?”

“No, Yer Grace, I don't,” the valet said as he had been told, nodding vehemently.

“He may have ale with his supper, but don't go allowing him to get drunk,” the duke instructed the innkeeper. “Hawkins does like his ale, don't you, Hawkins?”

“I do, Yer Grace,” the valet said enthusiastically with a grin.

“Of course, Your Grace. Everything will be just as you require, Your Grace. You needn't worry.” The innkeeper bowed again, then led them to their suite.

There they found their friends awaiting them.

“Ohh, this is so exciting!” Caroline said.

“Do you have the costumes?” Eunice inquired.

“Yes,” Allegra answered her, “and when you see them, you will not believe it. Everything is so real. Honor is coming with us.”

“Your maid?”
Eunice and Caroline spoke in unison.

“Honor speaks quite good French,” Allegra explained, “and as a servant, will know more about the common folk than we do.”

“How amusing that your Honor should speak another tongue,” Caroline said. “Why it is almost like having one's own French maid,” she giggled. “Even if she does come from Worcester.”

“Can we see our costumes?” Eunice asked.

“Honor, get the little bag with our special clothing, and let us show Lady Walworth and Lady Bainbridge,” Allegra instructed her maid.

The bag was brought, opened, and Honor pulled out a skirt, a sash, and one of the mobcaps. Caroline snatched the headpiece, and pulled it over her curls. Eunice wrapped the sash about her narrow waist. They stared at each other and burst out laughing.

“This is not a jest,” Allegra scolded them. “If we are caught we could all face the guillotine. These revolutionaries
are not respecters of nationality. Being English will not protect us. Are you two certain that you want to go? As Quinton keeps reminding me, this is a dangerous game that we are playing at. We must travel eight miles from the coast to arrive at the d'Aumont estate. Then we must gain custody of the countess and her children from whoever has them. And finally we have to travel back to the coast without being caught, reach the yacht, and sail back to England without attracting the suspicions of anyone. I will not think badly of either of you if you have changed your minds.”

“No,” Caroline said. “She is my cousin.”

“No,” said Eunice. “I will admit we are both nervous about this undertaking, but not once has either of us considered crying off, Allegra.”

“But how are we going to get to the countess?” Caroline asked.

“We shall be bloodthirsty peasant ladies from Harfleur who have come to bring the countess and her children before the revolutionary tribunal for justice. The Committee for Public Safety in the town has sent us to fetch the woman, Citizeness d'Aumont, and her brats. If the people holding the countess and her children attempt to stop us, we shall become very aggressive and threatening toward them. France is ruled by fear. The mere threat that her captors are not concurring with the local authorities will bring about their immediate cooperation, I am certain,” Allegra told her friends. “Remember, despite their revolutionary talk, these people are used to obeying their superiors. We shall have to be very convincing, however.”

While the women continued to speak among themselves, the gentlemen were also making their plans.

“When do we sail?” the duke asked the Earl of Aston.

“Captain Grant suggests we leave on the evening's
tide. It is just before midnight. The weather is good, the winds fresh. If it all holds, we should reach France the day after tomorrow.”