The Hallucinatory Duke

A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

The Hallucinatory Duke

ISBN # 978-1-78184-063-4

©Copyright Meta Mathews 2012

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright August 2012

Edited by Rebecca Douglas

Total-E-Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2012 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Total-e-burning
and a
sexometer
of
2.

This story contains 63 pages, additionally there is also a
free excerpt
at the end of the book containing 9 pages.

THE HALLUCINATORY DUKE

Meta Mathews

What’s a modern girl to do when a Regency-era duke sexually harasses her? Amelia’s no pushover, but she fears she’s in over her head, especially when a fellow who looks just like the duke shows up in her favourite diner. Is Jack a continuation of her nightmare or the answer to her prayers?

Amelia may be a historian, but that doesn’t mean she welcomes nighttime visits from the Duke of Durbane, who disappeared under mysterious circumstances almost two hundred years earlier. Convinced her research is behind his unwanted attentions, she tries to quit her job, but her boss instead arranges for her to meet his nephew, who is experiencing his own troubling visitations. Although Amelia at first tries to keep Jack at a distance, she soon realises their previous experiences are so intertwined, they’ll have to cooperate to solve a mystery from the past and discover what the future holds for both of them.

When Jack Durban accepted a transfer to Atlanta, he didn’t expect his uncle Ben, a professor and historian, to recruit him to help research the mysterious disappearance of the Duke of Durbane two hundred years ago. Nor did he expect to start getting ghostly visits from a woman wearing a ball gown who insists on pleasuring him even when he isn’t interested. When his uncle arranges for him to meet Amelia, he realises their experiences are related and that they have to find some way to placate the spirits that are harassing them before they can plan the future he’s determined to share with her.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

The Devil Went Down to Georgia
: Charlie Daniels Band

Memphis Redbirds: Memphis Redbirds Baseball Foundation, Inc.

Cardinals: St. Louis Cardinals

The Commercial Appeal
: The E. W. Scripps Company

Corn flakes: Kellogg Company

Aerosmith: Aerosmith

Chapter One

Amelia Comstock awoke moaning when the duke removed his hand from her breast. The dream faded almost immediately but, as usual, her breathing had quickened and moisture had gathered between her legs. Damn it, she was tired of this. There had to be some way to get this freakin’ man out of her dreams. After all, he’d died a hundred and ninety-four years ago.

Well, technically, he’d
disappeared
a hundred and ninety-four years ago. Whether he’d died at that time was anybody’s guess.

Turning on to her side, she looked at the digital clock sitting on her bedside table. Three-thirty in the morning.

Again.

She knew from experience that going back to sleep was impossible, so she switched her bedside lamp on to low and rolled out of bed. She tugged off her sweaty nightshirt and tossed it into the hamper of dirty clothes sitting beside her dresser.

“Mmmm—owww.”

“Sorry, Wellington,” she muttered. “I forgot that you prefer curling up on my dirty underwear to sleeping on your own bed.” She glared at the cat who stared back, his green eyes heavy with sleep. He stood, stretched, turned around three times then buried his nose in the crotch of her panties before curling up in a ball and tucking his head under his front legs.

“You pathetic, purring pervert.” She flung the words at him as though he could understand and feel properly chastised. She sighed and shook her head. “Scolding the cat. I really need to get some sleep. That or go completely bonkers.”

But she was wide awake now. Wide awake and sweaty. She wondered just how much she’d twisted around during her dreams. She also wondered exactly what that damn duke had done to her before she awoke.

After blowing her breath out in a long sigh, she stalked into the bathroom, adjusted the shower to cool, then climbed under the refreshing spray. Ten minutes later, she stepped out, dried herself off, walked into her bedroom stark naked, and screamed at the top of her lungs.

The Duke of Durbane sat on the side of her bed, fully clothed in garments that had been the height of fashion in 1817. Darkly handsome, he raised his eyebrows before slowly looking her over from the top of her damp hair to the tips of her bare toes, which sported dark red polish.

“Ah!” His voice was husky. “So you’re a courtesan. I suspected as much.”

“I beg your pardon. I’m not a…” Amelia forced herself to stop talking. She was college-educated. She understood that sleep deprivation could cause hallucinations. But talking back to your hallucinations didn’t imply good mental health.

She turned her back on him, marched over to her armoire and yanked a clean nightshirt from her sleepwear drawer. She’d started to pull it on over her head when he spoke again.

“Don’t do that. Your body is far too beautiful to conceal under such an ugly garment.”

Amelia took a deep breath and dug her fingernails into the fabric.
Okay, girl, you’re still hearing voices, but don’t freak out. This is a temporary illusion. You’ll be just fine. No need to get nervous.
Holding the nightshirt in front of her, she slowly pivoted.

He’d leaned sideways on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. And he looked just like the portraits she’d seen reproduced in books. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Square chin. High forehead. Lips just a tad too thin, but still nicely shaped.

He smiled at her.

Her knees weakened. Damn. How could a hallucination be that appealing?

His smile moved to his eyes, which sparkled like sapphires in a jeweller’s showcase. “Come here.” His gaze caressed her skin and she tugged her sleepwear closer as a sudden shiver passed down her spine.

“Go away.” Her voice sounded raspy. With desire? That was crazy.
She
was crazy. She couldn’t be scared out of her mind, and at the same time be hot for a man who wasn’t really there.

Could she?

“Come here,” he repeated in that velvety voice that slipped past her guard and under her nightshirt. Her nipples hardened and pressed against the soft cotton, which she now clutched so tightly around her body, her hands had started to ache.

Her breathing grew shallow and her head started to spin. She needed to lie down. Determined to ignore the hallucinated duke, she squared her shoulders and marched over to the bed. She would prove to herself that he existed only in her imagination. She thrust out a hand, expecting it to slice through his image as though he were nothing but a column of light. When she made contact with his hair, which felt like strands of silk, she gasped and jumped back.

His lips stretched into a grin, rendering him even more handsome than before. “You must be new to your profession, my dear. I’ve never known a courtesan with so little skill. Unfortunately, I have another appointment and must go soon, but I’ve time enough to pleasure you. Lie down and spread your legs.”

“I’m not a cour…oh, my!” He’d caught hold of her hand—the one gripping her nightshirt—and tugged. Her tired fingers loosened and the shirt slid to the floor, revealing her breasts and her mons. She bit back an oath. If he hadn’t noticed before, he’d certainly see now that she wasn’t a natural blonde.

“But what the hell do you care?” she muttered aloud. “He isn’t real.”

He stood and she realised he was at least six feet tall. That was considerably taller than the norm for men of his era. She should know. She’d been researching the early nineteenth century since she was a freshman in college.

“Lie down,” he said again. When she merely stared at him, he bent, picked her up, and placed her gently on the bed.

“What the hell?” she muttered. Hallucinations weren’t supposed to feel this real. At least, she didn’t think they were. She didn’t have a lot of experience with them, fortunately.

He glared at her, his brow seriously wrinkled. “I don’t approve of such language, even if you
are
a courtesan.”

“I’m not a cour… Wait—you can’t do that.”

But he’d already done it—dropped to his knees beside the bed and bent to take the tip of her right breast in his mouth.

Lifting a hand, he began to roll the nipple of her left breast between two fingers while he sucked on the right. Heat flashed through her.

Okay, time to think this through. You haven’t had sex in a while, you’re sleep-deprived and you’ve spent too many hours researching this damn duke. You’re having an especially vivid dream. Nothing surprising in that. You should just relax and enjoy the ride.

When he gently bit her right breast, need arched from her upper body straight to her clit. She bent her knees and spread her legs, intending to pleasure herself, but her dream partner slid his hand over her belly towards her pussy. Then he raised his head, looked towards her lower body and paused.

“What’s this?” He frowned and with his forefinger touched the small, yellow butterfly tattooed on her upper right thigh.

Her breath hissed out. Answering questions was not on her agenda right now, but he continued to glare and point.

Hoping to convince herself that this really was just a realistic dream, she decided to play along. “The tattoo? Just a moment of youthful stupidity during spring break when I was a junior.”

“I don’t like it.” He drew a circle on her thigh and a sudden burst of pain had her struggling to sit up. He pushed her down with a firm hand between her breasts.

“Hey!” she yelped. “What the hell?”

“I told you I don’t care for that sort of language.” But he gently touched the spot again and the pain dissipated. “Now, I’ll pleasure you.”

She was tempted to tell him to leave her the hell alone, but he had already slipped his fingers between the folds of her pussy and unerringly zeroed in on her clit.