The Hallucinatory Duke (3 page)

“They’re first-year graduate students,” Ben responded. He twisted his lips in a gesture of distaste. “But forget them. They’re hopeless anyway, and I’ve got more important topics to discuss. You won’t believe the luck I had on this trip.”

Amelia stifled a moan. Ben’s periodic trips to England always resulted in lots of boring work for her, because he invariably brought back reams of copies of old parish records, letters, and two-hundred-year-old newspapers.

Amelia nodded towards the papers spread over most of the table. “Is that what you want me to go over?”

“These?” He huffed. “No, there’s nothing here of importance.” He shuffled the pile together. “I’ll take this stuff home and file it. Here’s what you need to work on.”

He’d just reached for his briefcase when the waitress approached. Her nametag read
Betty
and she’d worked at the restaurant ever since Amelia had been coming here. She held a pencil poised over her order pad. “Hey, Professor Durban.” She nodded towards Ben then Amelia. “You folks ready to order?”

Ben glanced at Betty then his empty coffee cup. “No food. Just coffee.”

Amelia threw up her hand. “I’m starving, so yes, I am ready to order. I want the daily special of meatloaf and green beans with a side of creamed potatoes. And, of course, a large glass of iced tea.”

Ben heaved a sigh. “Oh, all right. I’ll order too. Give me my usual. A chef salad, hold the lettuce.”

Betty didn’t so much as blink. “A three-egg omelette with bacon, ham and cheese. Anything else, Professor?”

“More artificial sweetener. You’d think the damned stuff was rationed, the way you folks divvy it out.”

Betty stared pointedly at the pile of little green packets beside his coffee cup. “Gotcha,” she said. “One cup of caffeine sweetened with poisonous chemicals comin’ right up.”

She scurried away while Ben shook his head. “Everybody thinks they’re a comedian.” He shrugged and turned back towards his briefcase. After flipping the latches open, he raised the top and pulled out a small, cloth-covered rectangle. “You’ll want to be careful with this. It’s almost two hundred years old.”

“What?” Amelia screeched. She reached across the table and gingerly grasped the lightweight package. “Is it legal to take documents out of the country when they’re that old?”

“Shhh.” Ben glanced around. Amelia followed suit and was glad to see that no one was paying any attention to her. Still, she lowered her voice. “What is this?”

“It’s a diary. I want you to type it up on the computer so I can read it.”

“Whose diary is it?”

“A woman who may have been related to the woman who married the last Duke of Durbane. The female who kept the diary was named Martha Comstock.”

“Comstock?” Amelia knew her family name wasn’t uncommon, but for Ben to mention it in connection with their research on the Duke of Durbane left her feeling just a bit queasy. Maybe she shouldn’t have ordered the meatloaf after all.

Ben affected his most innocent expression. “Comstock is a common name.”

Another shiver of suspicion shot down Amelia’s spine. “Are you seriously thinking I might be a descendant of the woman who wrote this diary?”

Ben’s lips twitched—and not in a ‘hey, this is amusing’ kind of way. “Really, Amelia, there’s no reason to believe you and Martha Comstock are related. It’s a coincidence. Coincidences are just that—coincidences.”

“Ooooo-kay.” Amelia had known Ben long enough to know when he was blowing smoke, but she also understood the futility of arguing with him. “You want every word transcribed from the diary to a computer file, right?”

He nodded. “Well, every word you can recognise. The ink is faded and her handwriting was not the best, but unlike some of those idiot students I have this semester, you’ll at least be able to tell an
s
from an
f.
”

Amelia didn’t have to respond because Betty had walked up with their order and started setting dishes on the table. Amelia quickly tucked the diary into a side pocket of her purse where she knew it would be secure, then smiled at their waitress. “Thanks, Betty. That looks wonderful.” She closed her eyes and inhaled the saliva-producing aroma of meatloaf and creamed potatoes.

“You always act like you’re starved,” Ben grumbled as he leant back in his seat so Betty could freshen his coffee. “Didn’t you eat any breakfast?”

“I slept late this morning.” Amelia was first horrified, then mystified, to feel a blush staining her cheeks. Recollections of that dream in which she’d enjoyed an unbelievably lengthy climax had just popped into her head with unfortunate repercussions. She grabbed her glass of iced tea and emptied it in a few huge swallows, but she could still feel heat in her face.

Fortunately, Ben didn’t appear to notice. He ripped open a packet of sweetener and stirred it into his coffee before addressing Amelia again. “I got the diary from a woman who lives in the house where Martha Comstock once lived. The woman was happy enough to sell the book to me. In fact, she said she’d been intending to throw it away but just never got around to it. After all, she has no blood connection to the Comstocks.”

Amelia swallowed a bite of meatloaf. “Okay, what’s Martha Comstock’s connection to the Duke of Durbane?”

“I suspect she was the cousin of the woman the duke married. That’s what you—hopefully—will determine from her diary.”

“So, since the duke’s wife was named Amy Pennycut, this Comstock woman would have been a cousin on her mother’s side.”

Ben gave her a
duh
look but merely nodded and kept eating.

“Meaning that if the duke’s cousin Charles planned to use the Hardwicke Marriage Act in hopes of voiding the duke’s marriage…” She paused as the possible significance of the diary hit her. So little was known about what eventually became of the duke and duchess, any details about their lives that Martha Comstock might have noted in her diary could be invaluable to Ben’s and her research.

Ben forked up the last bite of his omelette. “As you’ve surmised, that diary has the potential to be of tremendous help to us, so be careful with it.” He dropped his fork onto his plate and started gathering up the papers he’d moved from the table to the bench when their food had arrived. He stuffed them into his briefcase and closed it.

“Do you have a class this afternoon?” Amelia asked.

Ben sighed. “Yes. It’s a waste of my time trying to teach those numbskulls, but it’s what I get paid for. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He tossed a couple of twenties onto the table. “Take care of the bill and tip Betty a dollar or two. You can keep the rest.”

Amelia shook her head as he walked away. Knowing how long he must have kept that table tied up, she figured she’d better add at least a five to his forty to see that poor Betty’s tips were reasonable for the day.

* * * *

Jack tried all afternoon to reach his uncle, but Ben had apparently turned his cell phone turned off, because Jack’s calls immediately went to voicemail. He then tried Ben’s office phone and finally, later in the afternoon, his home number. Ben wasn’t answering there either.

That didn’t mean Ben wasn’t at home, of course. Jack figured his uncle was avoiding him. Ben would especially be making himself scarce if he suspected Jack intended to tell him to take his research into the dukedom and shove it where it would be shielded from the hot Georgia sun.

Jack’s increasing irritation with his uncle merely served to feed his determination to best Ben at his own game. He drove to Ben’s house and turned into the driveway. He cut his motor, climbed out and looked around. If Ben was inside the house, his car would be in the detached garage, but there was no way to see inside. The door was solid steel, and the two small windows on either side of the building were covered by curtains drawn tight.

Shrugging, Jack walked around the rear corner of the house. His uncle, who had never married, had purchased this house in an established neighbourhood nearly forty years earlier, and over time had turned it into his own little kingdom. The fenced back yard was shaded by massive old maples and oaks with a thick undergrowth of dogwoods and redbuds. A large, screened-in porch jutted off the rear of the house and opened into the kitchen. “Hallelujah,” Jack muttered when he tried the screen door and found it unlocked.

He stepped onto the porch’s tile floor and paused for a second to admire his uncle’s interior decorating. A glass-topped table was pushed up against the inside wall, right under the kitchen windows. Wicker chairs with tropical print cushions were scattered around the room, along with three ottomans and four side tables. A chaise longue occupied a desirable spot near the far side of the room, strategically situated under a slowly spinning ceiling fan.

Although he had little hope of success, Jack tried the door leading into the kitchen. “Locked, of course,” he said aloud. He peered through the kitchen windows but the room was deserted. He turned, intending to leave, but the chaise longue suddenly seemed incredibly tempting.

A soft and cooling breeze swept in through the screen, and the intoxicating fragrance of honeysuckle permeated the room. A stray beam of sunshine slipped between the branches of the dogwood growing right outside, illuminating the lounge.

I’ll just stretch out for a few minutes and wait for Uncle Ben.

* * * *

When Jack awoke, some undetermined time later, the sky had darkened and distant rolls of thunder heralded the approach of an afternoon storm. He blinked, puzzled for a few seconds as to where he was. Then he recalled.
I’m on Uncle Ben’s porch.
But where the hell is Uncle Ben?

He’d started to push himself up when he realised he was naked. He was also extremely aroused. His engorged cock wavered around and around, forming tiny circles that gave the impression it was rotating in time with the ceiling fan.

Dear God, he must be losing his mind. Then he realised that, as before, he couldn’t move. Not his arms, not his legs, not his head. He could talk though. “Damn you, leave me alone. I don’t want anything more to do with you.”

A laugh, brittle and humourless, sounded from just behind his head. “That’s not what you were saying when I pulled those strange clothes off you. You were begging for your release then. I sucked your cock until you were moaning like a bitch in heat. Shall I finish it for you?”

A blast of air, heavy with impending rain, burst through the screen behind him, and the heady scent of honeysuckle acted on him like a powerful aphrodisiac. He strained against the invisible bonds but they held tight.

Okay, this is a dream. I’m dreaming again. Got to wake up.

But the dream…the hallucination…whatever it was, refused to release him. He could feel his nuts tightening and his cock straining. He closed his eyes and immediately a soft hand encircled his dick while another began massaging his balls. A second later, a raspy tongue lapped at the beads of moisture he could feel gathering at the slit in the end of his cock.

Sensations inundated him, almost to the point of making him forget that he was a victim here, being subjected to acts he had not initiated, nor—despite his body’s responses—did he welcome them. He forced his eyes open when he felt something touching his lips.

The female had bent over him and was dragging one of her massive breasts with its spear-like nipple across his lips. He opened his mouth to object and she filled it with her tit.

He bit her as hard as he could. When she screamed, he turned her loose.

A flash of lightning illuminated the woman, who was completely nude and was now grimacing in pain. Something—perhaps his act of aggression, or her loss of concentration—had released him from his bondage and he grasped her shoulders, pushing her away from him.

Amazingly, she grinned. “Ah, you prefer to be in charge, I see. Very well. I like that too. Here.” Rope materialised in the hand she held out to him. “Tie my hands behind my back and have your way with me.”

Jack had never been into bondage, but this time he was tempted. Except the woman wasn’t real and, in any case, he’d be a fool to trust her. As sure as he started playing her game, he’d end up the big loser. He grabbed the robe and threw it across the room. “Get the hell away from me, and stay away.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. “You’ll regret—” she began, then paused as a car door slammed nearby. “It’s him,” she said. “I must go.”

As she disappeared, Jack’s erection faded and his clothes reappeared, which he considered a real blessing, because his uncle had just opened the screen door. He wore a raincoat and carried a dripping umbrella, which he shook before closing it and setting it down just inside the door.

He looked at Jack with raised eyebrows. “Was I expecting you?”

Jack pushed himself off the chaise longue and stood. “If not, you should have been, because a lot of unexpected things have been going on lately. Unexpected, unpleasant and impossible to explain.”

Ben’s lips twitched, as though he longed to smile, but, instead, he unbuttoned his raincoat then turned towards the hook beside the door. “Gotta hang this coat up. Then we’ll go to the kitchen, grab a beer, and you can tell me what’s going on.”

Half an hour later, Ben leant back in his chair and nodded. “I’ll be frank. I never expected to stir up any spirits, but this means we’re getting close.”

Jack scowled at him. “It also means I’m getting the hell out. No more research for me. I never wanted to prove I was related to a duke to begin with. This was always your project, and if you pursue it, you’re going to have to do so on your own.”

Ben affected a solemn expression, his white eyebrows drawn down and his square jaw set. “If you want out, that’s your prerogative, but there’s one tiny thing I need you to do first.”

“Uncle Ben!” Jack shook his head.

“Really, it’s quite simple. In fact, I’d do it myself if I didn’t have to teach tomorrow. Just listen to me a minute.” 

Chapter Three

After leaving the diner with the diary secured in the side pocket of her purse, Amelia spent the rest of the afternoon in the library researching Martha Comstock, but to no avail. Martha Comstock didn’t exist in any of the references Amelia could access, either in the stacks or online.